La Vie En Noir
by thegirlwhocriedbadwolf
Summary: Amelia McTavish is a young girl from Wales. Free-spirited yet haunted by a troubled and dark past, she follows in her father's footsteps and pursues her dream for working for MI6 - a branch of the British Secret Service. She's got drive and determination, but will she sink or swim? (Q/OC) (Skyfall)
1. Chapter 1

**Bonjour,**

** I realized that I needed inspiration for my other stories, and the poem I wrote just didn't get those creative juices flowin'.**

**That sounds vaguely sexual.**

**Anyways, I decided to put "Photosynthesis" and "I Spy..," on temporary hiatus. I've started this one due to my love for espionage, and I just recently watched Skyfall for the 80th time. :o) Heh. Heh heh. Heh heh heh.**

**I will be continuing this fic until further notice (at least until I start getting inspiration for my other, more popular ones).**

**In case you haven't seen the movie or read the books, or even know what I'm talking about, Q stands for Quartermaster. **

**Q: . /tumblr_mddlrlMYm51r4oy9mo1_ **

**Amelia: photos/dannysantos/5977891132/in/photostream/lightbox/**

photos/dannysantos/5974256714/in/photostream/lightbox/

photos/dannysantos/5954410748/in/photostream/lightbox/

**I'm very sorry to disappoint, but I should also let you know that my health is improving, haha! Without further ado, here's my little manged up piece of _'inspiration'_.**

**-Lennon**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters listed in the story except for Amelia McTavish and Kate Brown - all rights go to Ian Fleming/their owners. **

**Rated M because I'm paranoid.**

* * *

As Amelia walks into the main atrium of MI6, she feels as if she's been transported to another dimension - everything is metallic and grey, modern, sophisticated. This was hardly the place you'd ever expect her to be in; with its sharp dressers and women in heels. The persistent swish of trousers echos through the main room that's seemingly gleaming with the faint rays of sun that manage to peek their way through the clouds, fragmented into squares by the large windows bordering around the entire area.

_'Don't fuck this up,' _the voice in her head demands. '_this is a sink or swim situation.'_

She puts on her most confident face, tilting her mildly pointed chin up slightly and walking straight to the sleek, mahogany desk that looms parallel to the entrance.

"Amelia McTavish," she states clearly in her evident Welsh accent. A professional-looking woman, probably more than thrice Mimi's ripe age of 21, with silver hair and a waistcoat taps at her computer, retrieving a handful of paperwork with an image of the young McTavish, along with a full biography dating back to her very birth. The aged woman behind the desk hands her the sheets inside a manila folder stamped with the MI6 seal.

"Go down that corridor," she points a wrinkled finger to the right. "stop at the second tech room and turn left. If you reach the storage closet you've gone too far. His office is marked 109," Amelia nods curtly, turning on her heel before the woman speaks up again. "and I trust that you won't lose the file." Her dull blue eyes narrow, regarding the younger girl with a clear expression of authority.

* * *

McTavish manages her way down the grey hallways that look exactly the same, avoiding other agents and dodging the occasional wet floor sign. As she approaches a black door marked _109 _she inhales deeply, knocking twice. A rustling of papers is heard from inside, and she peers through the blinds of the window that substitutes as a wall.

"Come in," a hoarse voice calls, followed by the rolling of a wheeled chair. Mimi enters slowly, greeted by the overpowering stench of strong coffee and televisions flashing wildly. She covers her deep brown eyes for a slight second, allowing them to adjust to the darkness of the room, and takes a careful step inside.

"Ms. McTavish," the young man - presumably a few years older than she - greets with a placid expression, surveying the girl before him as she stumbles in her high heels. He regards her willowy and athletic frame, and the bangs that frame her elfish-featured face. Her dark hair cascades down her back in thick, frizzy waves. _'Good luck with this one, Geoffrey...' _he mentally sighs.

"I was told to immediately come to you," she steps closer, handing him the folder filled with her application information. He nods as he skims through her profile quickly, committing it all to memory in a few seconds, slapping it onto his desk. "Alright," he sighs, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses on his ridged nose. "you will be my new trainee until you have been deemed fit for active service in the field, which is what you initially applied for, am I correct?"

"Indeed," she replies, her own dialect sounding foolish next to his poshly perfected London twang. He nods swiftly, spinning around to his small desk and pulls a few sheets of paper, signing the bottom in spidery print, before slipping them into the folder and handing it back to her. "M's office: room 127," he states bluntly, swinging back around to bury his nose in his laptop, incessant tapping of his fingers on the keyboard filling the silence as she turns, stumbling another time in her heels, clearly never having worn them before in her life.

"And take those shoes off," he smiles at her faintly from the rims of his thick glasses, and she gladly obliges, a smile gracing her thin lips as she bends down to rid her feet of those fiends that are considered attractive. _'Just an accident waiting to happen.' _the voice in her head speaks up. Geoffrey tries his best to remain professional, especially considering she's his trainee, but ultimately fails, stealing a fleeting glance at her backside as she strides down the hall.

Amelia knocks politely on the door marked with the number Q gave her, and enters after the third time. She pokes her head in the empty room, discarding the folder of her files on the regal-looking desk next to an LED lamp, before making her way back to the young Quartermaster's office, earning odd looks from the other operatives who litter the corridors as she strolls around in her cotton liners - shoeless.

She enters the dank room again, Q's lanky silhouette framed against the harsh light as he strokes his chin in thought, standing directly in front of the bright screens. She joins him, standing adjacent and noting that even without those horrid high heels, she rests just a few inches shorter than the man, at a frank 5'8".

"What do you see?" He asks, turning to her. She pulls a pair of tea shade glasses from the pocket of her tightly-fitting navy dress, resting them on the edge of her small nose. He almost slips a smile, and waits for her response noticing an ungodly amount of freckles scattered across her face now that he's closer.

"I see a hotel lobby, and Yeurig Stallin, along with his associates." She turns to him, furrowing her eyebrows to find his dark eyes trained on her curiously as if she were a document he could easily decrypt. Q averts his glance back to the man on the screen, his wild hair disheveling even more at the sudden movement. "Very good," he nods, talking mostly to himself, and pleased he's actually got an intelligent trainee this time.

Her eyes linger on him accusingly before turning back to the face of Mr. Yeurig Stallin; Russian mob boss, human trafficker, and anti-Americanism/Britain arms dealer.

* * *

Amelia finds herself in the indoor shooting range during break hour. The facility is situated next to a small lounge used for eating (and hiding from M), a plate-glass window separating the two. She picks up one of the many firearms that she's familiar with and able to use correctly: a Walther PPK 9mm. As she takes her aim, the door swings open harshly, and she turns quickly, meeting eyes with a woman who looks to be a tad older than Amelia, the anger on her face not helping her cause much. Mimi turns back to her target: a plastic board with the silhouette of a man, a target painted across his heart.

She shoots sharply, each time aiming for the heart of the target, and loosely drapes her isolation headphones on her neck, the yellow tint of her protective glasses not helping much due to her vaguely poor eyesight. As she rips the target paper from where its plastered, revealing five perfect bullet holes in a circle around the center, she feels a presence behind her and whips around to see the angered lady regarding her with a placid face. The woman's exceptionally attractive; blonde hair, green eyes, a feminine stature, tanned skin. Amelia would be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of this woman, and feels quite like a potato in her presence. If she weren't standing here right now in the shooting range, Mimi would be convinced she was a model.

"You're a good shot," the blonde woman states, extending her hand, adorned with perfectly manicured fingernails. "Newbie?" she asks, and Amelia nods her head. "I'm Kate. Kate Brown." She smiles, revealing a perfect set of straight, white teeth, which make Amelia even more self-conscious of the gap between hers.

"Amelia McTavish," the mahogany-haired girl replies.

The woman with flaxen hair raises an eyebrow at the shoeless girl, and opens her mouth to say something when a rough voice cuts through the silence.

"Kate!" Q bursts in through the doors, causing all eyes to be trained on him, and an audible groan from the slightly older girl.

"Go away, Geoffrey!" she snarls, turning her back on him and picking up her own firearm at random, shooting continuously at the head of the target.

"Katherine..." he begs in a pleading tone that Amelia never thought she'd hear the proper, strict man use.

"Geoffrey," she turns to him with a menacing glare, clutching the base of her rifle so tightly her knuckles start turning white. "if you don't leave this instant I'm going to put a bullet through the back of your head." Kate seethes as he back away, accepting defeat and turning on his heel.

"McTavish," he shouts, jerking his thumb out the door, motioning for her to follow.

"You're his new trainee?" Kate asks after she takes another mediocre shot, earning a nod from Amelia as she places her equipment back.

"Don't refrain from stabbing him with a pen if you wish to," Kate states bluntly as Geoffrey calls out to Amelia again.

* * *

**P.S. Madge, I know you're probably reading this. UPDATE YOUR FIC, GURL. COME ON, YOU SAID IT WAS ALMOST DONE WHEN WE WERE FACETIMING LASTNIGHT, GOSH. **

**With love,**

** Your cheeky douche of a best friend.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the faulty links - they've been added to my profile :)**

**-Lennon**

* * *

She spins around, swaying her thin hips to the rhythm of "Oh! Darling" pouring out of her headphones as she tediously prints out the files Q sent her to the photocopying room for. Yawns inflate her throat like balloons as she completes the boring task, still dancing aimlessly in the seemingly empty room. As she heads back to Q's office, a stack of papers in her hands, she knocks into someone turning a corner, and falls onto the floor, the sheets of files flying into the air like fresh snow during a storm.

"Shit, shit, shit!" she curses, scrambling to pick up the formerly alphabetized papers from the black, marble tile. She irritatingly rips her headphones from her ears, certain Q's going to castrate her with his favorite ball point pen.

"Terribly sorry," a rough voice bids from above her.

She looks up with a seething glare, ready to bite the head off of whoever stands before her. This impulse quickly fades when she recognizes the man, looking up at him with an expression of pure awe and admiration. He regards the young girl with a roguish grin. Her look of surprise turns into one of nervous energy as he bends down to help her, handing the remainder of the files to her.

Amelia stands and he quickly follows. She tucks her hair behind her ears anxiously. "Hello," she bids, trying to not meet his eyes for fear of fainting - or something of that ridiculous nature.

"Good day," the older man responds. "I don't think I've seen you here before." He grazes his chin in thought. "Who might you be?"

"Um, well - I, uh... Amelia McTavish. I'm Q's new trainee," she manages, extending her hand like a duckling testing the water. He accepts it, shaking firmly.

"Well, Amelia McTavish, I'm Bond. James Bond."

"I know who you are," she retorts, raising her eyebrows. "But that still doesn't mean you can get away with _this_." She gestures to the folder of jumbled files in her hands that once were organized. "Q's going to have my head."

He shrugs, pleasantly surprised at how quickly she adapted to the conversation. He respects her feistiness, and immediately knows she's going to get on well here.

"He won't do anything to you if I go," James starts. "he still owes me after almost getting me killed once or twice." The man slyly winks, relieving the eye-rolling young girl of the papers before marching off to Q's office.

* * *

"Bond I'm going to kill you!" Geoffrey shouts, clearly irritated at the rogue operative leaving his sanctuary after corrupting his trainee against him, _and _fucking up the files for the Stallin case.

"Organize these back into alphabetical order," he commands Amelia, who narrows her eyes slightly at the hostile request.

She snatches the files from him, propping herself up on his large desk, which makes a more comfortable seat than the modern chairs resting against the far wall, and sifts through the papers tediously.

He can blatantly hear the 60's rock-acid music blasting through her headphones as she swings her legs childishly, swiftly documenting all the files orderly. He rolls his eyes, continuing his tracking Stallin through the hotel security cameras that project his intimidating - and heavily-guarded - person.

"Why'd you roll your eyes?" Amelia asks without looking up from the files.

"Because you just keep getting less typical," Geoffrey responds.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrows her eyes slightly.

"Oh, you very well know what it means. Or are you that _thick_?" Q sneers, looking up to see she's gone. "McTavish, where the hell- Ow!"

"_That_," Amelia states after slapping him across the back of the head with the sorted Stallin files, "was for calling me thick. I suggest you don't do it again, or next time it won't be a stack of paper."

Geoffrey rolls his eyes, rubbing the back of his head as she begrudgingly continues working; stapling the correct dates together, highlighting important sentences, sorting the images in chronological order, and all the while tapping her stupid foot.

"What's up with you and tall, blonde and murderous, eh?" Amelia blurts spontaneously, working an eyebrow as she staples the last of the files together.

Geoffrey glares at her above his horn-rimmed glasses. "Like I'd tell _you _of all people. You literally _just _walked in the goddamned building! I don't think I can trust you, anyways, sweetheart. I read your file. Criminal record, it seems. Substance abuse and assault with a deadly weapon? Someone's been naughty. What's that about?" A smirk rises on his lips.

"I'll answer your question when you answer mine, pretty boy." Amelia counters, inching closer on his desk with the slyest grin plastered across her face.

There's a long pause before he smiles back. "Fine... We had a thing a while back, there was an argument, we worked it out and she wanted to get more serious, I said no, that's that."

"Liar."

"What?" Geoffrey raises his eyebrows, almost laughing at her absurd statement.

"I called you a liar," she smiles. "You were the one who wanted things to get more serious."

"What makes you say that?" he asks, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"Guys like Geoffrey Thompson - no offense intended - don't just have women like Kate - practical model material - falling at their feet," she crosses her legs and raises her eyebrows in victory.

"Guys like 'Geoffrey Thompson'?" his eyes narrow slightly, really not certain if he wants to open that door.

She sighs, pursing her lips and running a hand through her now-frizzing hair. "Let's put it this way: computer geeks don't intentionally let go of stunning field operatives."

He nods slightly. Even though he knows she's right, a tad bit of him is truthfully offended. "Point taken," Q sighs. "Now, what is all this criminal offense business?" he smirks, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the stack of papers that litter his cluttered desk like a city torn through by a hurricane.

She sighs. "Do you really want to open that Pandora's box?" Geoffrey nods enthusiastically in response.

Amelia leans in slowly, their noses practically touching. "Too bad," she whispers sultrily.

"That isn't fair!" Geoffrey calls after her as she walks away, down the never-ending corridor of offices and trash cans and security condemned to their posts on forsaken ground.

"Life isn't fair, Thompson!" Mimi yells back over her shoulder in an amused manner.

He gets up, starting to stride after her, but finds himself leaning against the doorframe, just _smiling_.

_'You really are going to need luck with this one, Geoffrey...'_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the follows, reviews and favourites :) It makes me feel warm inside, huehuehue.**

**Here!**

**Disclaimer: Again, I do not own any characters in this story: all rights go to their respective owners. The only characters that belong to me are my OCs Kate Brown and Amelia McTavish.**

**Woot.**

* * *

A loud knock - quickly escalating into banging, followed by the constant shout of a familiar name wakes Mimi from her aspirin-induced dreamland. A slightly feminine groan is heard from the inside of the tiny flat, and Amelia stuffs her face into her pillow, letting out another low growl, before stomping out into the front room in her pajama-clad body.

"Ey! I'm coming, blimey!" she yells, her voice cracking, as she opens to door to reveal an anxious-looking Q, his hand poised to place another irritating knock on the thin, wooden door. He gives her an elevator glance, taking note of her tangled mane of hair that's in wild curls framing her tiny face as opposed to - what he assumes to be - straightened for the office.

"Why are you here? What time is it? Its 5:03 in the fucking _morning_! Geoffrey, what the hell-"

He slips in after another round of being bombarded with questions, quickly interrupting her. "We're going Budapest," the male states simply.

The answer registers on her tired face for a moment or two, and she rubs at her eyes, a yawn escaping her. "Why are we going to Hungary?" she trails off, her voice muted with sleep and the drowsy after-effects of medication.

The curly-haired man rolls his sarcastic, brown eyes. "Think of this as a field trip," he says, and works an eyebrow, surveying the girl in front of him from head-to-toe.

"What kind of woman sleeps in her knickers and a sweatshirt that looks like it would normally be worn by an adolescent boy?" Q questions cheekily.

"Oh piss off, its cold!" Amelia grumbles back as she strides off to her room. "And I'm no woman!" she calls back over her shoulder with a sly grin before disappearing into her tiny bedroom.

"Whatever, McTavish!" he calls back. "Just put some proper clothes on."

* * *

"You call those proper clothes?" Geoffrey raises an eyebrow at her ensemble as they walk through the crowded streets of London to get to the tube.

"We're going on a plane, Q." she narrows her autumn-coloured eyes. "Sorry I'm not like the usual girls you travel with." Amelia scoffs, pulling a book out of her bag and grabbing one of the poles as they board the train.

"I swear to God, the tube will be the death of me. _Please mind the gap between the train and the platform_. In all reality, with the amount of warning we get, you'd expect to have to jump over some sort of fiery inferno filled with crocs and angry Daleks just to get onto the choo." Amelia mumbles, her eyes not straying from her book for even a second.

Q rolls his eyes, containing a laugh, looking at her as she reads, seemingly in a haze. He can see her eyes dart frantically around the page swiftly, the words reflecting in her irises that resemble the colour of the earth after a spring rain.

"Trainers and a sweatshirt that you're basically drowning in... You're right, you aren't like the girls I usually travel with."

She nods precisely, going back to her beloved hardcover book.

"Hamlet?" he questions, craning his neck over her shoulder to see the title of her book.

Amelia looks up, a dark eyebrow arched and a smile playing on her lips. "What's wrong with it?"

"Isn't that the book we had to read in secondary school?" he asks with a grin, those dreadful years of adolescence flooding back into his memory.

"Yes," she answers, exhaling in a laugh. "But Hamlet's a classic. God, I wish I could meet Shakespeare... He was brilliant," she sighs, leaning against the railing.

Geoffrey just laughs hoarsely, as if he didn't do it often, and Mimi shoots him a childish grin as they exit the silver metal beast that is the tube.

* * *

"All carry-on items should now be stored securely whether overhead or under the seat in front of you. All aisles and exits should be clear. We ask that all of your mobile phones and electronic devices be turned off, but once we're in the air we'll let you know when you are able to use your approved electronics. Please note that some items (such as mobile phones) are not approved to be used during flight. You'll find a list of safety protocol in case of emergency in the seat pouch in front of you: please follow along," a busty flight attendant in the customary grotesque blue uniform starts, continuing her speech about the protocol all passengers must follow in case of a tragic event. "And with that, I ask that you keep your seatbelts buckled at all times, and have a great flight!"

"McTavish, I should let you know, I'm terrified of airplanes." Q admits calmly, regarding Amelia coolly as she puts her book back into her bag, exchanging it for a sleek iPhone.

"Feel free to cry on my shoulder anytime you get scared, Geoffrey." She smiles sarcastically, patting him on the head in a condescending manner. He narrows his eyes, ultimately failing and succumbing to the smile playing on his lips.

"Bugger off," he laughs, glancing down the never-ending array of shiny grey seats, his face falling as he spots a familiar head poke out into the aisle. Geoffrey leans in closely to Amelia, keeping his voice low. "We've got some Russian visitors," he mumbles, referring to Stallin's goons, which registers immediately on her face. She raises both eyebrows, looking from him to the bathroom which is just past the antagonist of the present situation. "Stay here," she mutters, unbuckling her seatbelt hastily, climbing over the man in a tangle of limbs. A sly grin rises on his face momentarily at their current position, wegding between the seats.

"I'm going to slap you again if you keep looking at me like that," she mumbles, glaring at him as she strides down the aisle, passing Stallin's goon successfully without being recognized. A flight attendant demans she head back to her seat, which Amelia obliges to with a smirk, slumping down next to the Quartermaster.

"He's not here for us; didn't even notice me," she concludes, buckling up her seatbelt as they start ripping down the airstrip at a mind-numbing speed.

"Look at you, Sherlock. I've got to say, dear, you aren't as ditzy as I initially expected when they told me I'd be training some 21 year old from Wales." he admits coyly, distracted briefly. "Why would one of Stallin's security be on this flight? From London to Budapest? That isn't just dumb luck..." he blurts, turning to the girl.

"If Stallin's in Rome, then why would he be going to Hungary? What's in Hungary?"

Amelia contemplates this for a moment, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. She finds herself gazing out the window, still having the attention of Q for some reason, and turns back to him, mouth open to say something. She mentally dismisses it, slumping back down.

A sudden realization paralyzes her in refusal to believe it.

"What?" Geoffrey asks, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Bond," she answers simply.

"Huh?"

"Bond's in Hungary," she sighs, rubbing her eyes exasperatedly. "He's after Bond."


	4. Chapter 4

**Terribly sorry for the long wait for an update, I just didn't have any... ****_motivation? _****I guess that's the word. **

**I've been reading other QxOCs, and I realized that A LOT of them are also named Amelia... I didn't realize that... I feel so unoriginal... Anyways, enjoy, I guess. **

**:3**

**-Lennon**

* * *

They shuffle off of the plane through the labyrinth of sleek grey seats and people bustling about, trying to exit the aircraft as if their lives depended on it. _Bond's very may well be_, she scolds the other passengers mentally.

Amelia huffs and rolls her eyes, plopping down impishly into the seat next to her after losing all hope of ever passing the chav in front of her.

Q scoffs. "Oh, get up. You're being highly unprofessional," he tugs at her sleeve persistently.

Amelia jerks her thin arm away, glaring at him before pulling out her phone and scrolling through a handful of missed text messages. "I'm in sweats and hoodie, for fuck's sake," she states bluntly, not looking up as her painted thumbs tap at the keys. "Pretty sure we're past professionalism."

"Cursing reveals a limited vocabulary," he scorns with narrowed eyes, looking straight ahead as the line starts moving again, leaving her behind.

"Geoffrey!" she groans, slinging her messenger bag over one shoulder and following him off the vehicle, tripping over forgotten brief cases and discarded newspapers.

Amelia catches up to the stubborn man at last as he climbs into a cab. She follows suit, glaring at him and exhales heavily once in irritation.

"Nice one; leaving the newbie at an airport in Hungary. I bet M would just _love _you for that," she rolls her eyes, talking more-so to herself as he struggles to explain the directions of the hotel to the taxi driver.

"God's sake, Q. I thought Quartermasters were supposed to be trained in multiple languages too,; you handle all that tech shit. You'd think you'd need it," she drones, putting her phone back into her bag, leaning up near the front seat and smiling widely at the driver.

" Tudja, hol a Hotel Kempinski van?" she asks in her perfected Hungarian tongue. The man smiles at the sight.

"Persze tudom, kisasszony. Megyek sehova egy gyönyörű fiatal nő, mint te," he replies with a sincere grin, accompanied by a hearty chuckle. Amelia widens her eyes, putting a nervously fake smile on her face, and leaning back into her seat, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"You look like a tomato," Q states with a straight face and a cocked eyebrow as they start to drive down the busy streets.

"I think I was just hit on by a teenager..," she blinks, staring at the seat in front of her.

He just shakes his head at her, suppressing a laugh. "You _are _a teenager, McTavish."

"Oh, shut up," she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

A tense silence encases the back of the vehicle and the young Quartermaster adjusts his tie for no apparent reason, clearing his throat.

"David will meet us at the hotel," he states simply, his gaze focused on the buildings whizzing by outside, and she notes the usual authority that's currently presented itself back in his deep voice.

"David as in flirty David? The same David who finds every excuse he can to _never leave my fucking desk_?" she groans, burying her face into her hands.

"Precisely that David," he replies with a hint of amusement in his voice, the ghost of a smirk gracing his boyish features.

"He's worse than Bond," she exasperates, sitting up properly as they slow to a halt in front of the extravagant Hotel Kempinski.

"I sincerely doubt that _anyone _could be worse than 007," he chuckles lightly, relieving the trunk of the cab of the small array of bags filled with hidden weapons and electronics as Amelia tries to reason with the taxi driver.

"Én fizetem, uram. Nem vagyok hajlandó megcsókolni," Mimi states flatly, there being no room for negotiation as she leans on her left foot, jutting her hip out with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She raises an eyebrow.

The young man driving the cab shakes his head with a devilish grin plastered across his undeniably attractive face. Amelia couldn't counter that he wasn't good-looking, but the answer to his absurd request was still a definite no.

"What does he want?" Q quickly joins her side, a puzzled look across his face. "We've already paid the fare," he sighs, glancing from an agitated Amelia back to the smirking taxi driver.

"He wants a kiss, or he won't give me my bag back," she narrows her eyes, her piercing gaze not leaving the young man behind the wheel.

Q rolls his eyes. "Just kiss him for God's sake! He's not asking you to bloody marry him," he mutters in an irritated manner, swiftly turning on his heel and striding up the stairs that lead to the doors of the lavish hotel.

Mimi scoffs, her arms falling to her sides in a forceful manner. "Fine," she sneers at the man, leaning into the cab. Swiftly grabbing her bag from his taunting hands, she yanks it harshly, successfully freeing it.

She glances back over her shoulder at his playful expression that hasn't faltered for a second. "Hány éves vagy?" she sighs, returning the few steps back to the car and leaning halfway into the window.

"Vagyok, 19 éves," he replies, a charming smirk dancing across his tan face.

Amelia rolls her eyes, a slight smile inching its way across her face. "Oh, rendben," she finally decides, ducking into the window and placing a quick peck on his cheek, slapping him teasingly on the opposite side of his face before turning to catch up with Geoffrey.

* * *

"McTavish, turn your music off," Q commands in a half-ass kind of way, untangling the wires that snake around the beige carpeted floor of the large hotel room.

"How about no," she counters sarcastically from her resting place; lounging upside down on the chaise lounge and childishly sucking on a lollipop she stole from the lobby (obviously meant for children to take).

"How about I have you demoted?" he hisses at her, throwing the tangle of wires onto the floor before sinking back into the soft, down comforter that shelters the cloud-like mattress underneath. Geoffrey rubs at his eyes exasperatedly from behind his glasses.

A light shift in the bed, accompanied by a quiet thump, is noted by the irritated man, and he opens his eyes, only to be met with her dark irises that always hold a free-willing quality no matter what he's said to her.

"You can't demote me for not liking me," she states matter-of-factly, popping her lolly and raising her eyebrows.

"I didn't say I didn't like you, McTavish," he replies, regarding her with seriousness and an expression that can only be described as emotionless. She eyes him suspiciously, narrowing her gaze before popping her sucker back into her mouth and rolling onto her side, reluctantly standing from the comfortable bed and striding over to answer the cheerful knock coming from the door.

"Happy to see me, doll?" a familiar - and migraine-inducing - voice rings through Mimi's ears as she opens the door to reveal a smirking David who's "casually" leaning against the doorframe.

"Always a _pleasure_, David," she drones in a sarcastic tone, her eyes narrowed slightly as she strides back to where Geoffrey has finally decently untangled the mess of wiring, now typing furiously at his laptop.

She hops onto the bed next to him, folding her legs beneath her and peering over his shoulder inquisitively. "Located Bond yet?" she asks, her lollipop still grasped in her hand as she takes stray licks at it.

"Tracking him now," he replies, situating a Bluetooth in his ear. "Bond? Bond, can you hear me?" he repeats continuously, eventually earning an irritated and muffled reply somewhere along the lines of, "Yes, I can. Now could you button it for a bloody second?"

"Bond, listen to me-" Geoffrey starts, eventually being interrupted yet again by an annoyed 007.

Amelia sighs, holding her hand out and motioning for Q to hand it to her. He rolls his eyes, reluctantly dropping it into her hand. She ends up pressing it to her ear, it being far to big, and speaks into it with annoyance. "Bond, its-"

"Ms. McTavish," he finishes for her. "What a pleasant surprise. Now, might I ask why the hell you're both still monitoring me? This was a simple extraction. I appreciate your concern, but I think I can handle a simple extraction of an informa-"

"Bond, shut the fuck up," she states, and the hotel room goes quiet, Q trying to remain serious as he knows how awestruck 007 must be at the moment. Newbies don't speak like that to anyone.

Then again, she wasn't _anyone_.

"Excuse me?" the low and roguish voice belonging to the double-o agent rings through her ears intimidatingly.

"I apologize, but your _informant_," Amelia pauses, biting her bottom lip, "isn't really an informant," she states simply, quickly elaborating as she knows the supposed target of the mission will be arriving at Bond's location soon after her eyes swept over Geoffrey's laptop screen; adorned with two constantly-moving red dots, one of them advancing on the other quickly. "Your supposed informant is one of Yeurig's associates from the Stallin case. You'll be blown to bits if you follow him. Just get out of there," she says, glancing from Geoffrey and back to the laptop nervously.

Bond's signature sigh of annoyance is heard from the small speaker, and he replies with a, "Fine, but your skinny ass will be on the line if you're wrong."

"Deal," she titters lightly, handing the Bluetooth back to Q and sinking back into one of the pillows, watching 007's pinpoint retreat from the destination of assassination.

"Remind me why we needed David again?" Amelia asks as she flips through the channels on the large television opposite of them, speaking loud enough for the flirtatious Mr. David to hear it himself.

"Ooh, that one stung bad, Amelia," David places a hand on his heart in a mocking-manner, what can only be described as prowling over to where she lies; like a lion stalking its prey.

"But I'll forgive you," he smirks devilishly, resting a hand on her bare knee; the young girl being clad in gym shorts and a tank top. He traces patterns on her leg suggestively; Amelia ignoring every bit of it, despite the sudden flinch as he inches his way up farther, but she refuses to be weak and back down. She'll simply ignore him until he gets no reaction and stops, she thought to herself.

Geoffrey watches through the corner of his eye, stealing glances at the scene unfolding next to him. He clears his throat, hoping to cease David's advances, but to no avail. Going back to his laptop, Q types frivolously, meaning to distract himself. She's very capable, and she can definitely handle herself in any situation present, but he knows her stubbornness will eventually earn her something undesirable.

And probably end her up in jail for murder later.

"Come on, McTavish," David drawls, his mannerisms completely inappropriate but usually all it'll take to get any other female in the office into his bed. He inches up the hem of her loose shorts, revealing a pale and toned thigh, but she doesn't flinch or swat his hand away, just remains placid-faced, staring at the television screen.

"That's quite enough," Geoffrey all but whispers, finally snapping, slamming his laptop shut in the process and glaring daggers at the man. "You're completely out of line, David," he barks. "I'd suggest you'd leave, or you'll wake up without a job come tomorrow morning."

Raising his hands in surrender, eyes widened slightly as he awkwardly clears his throat, backing out of the hotel room slowly. Amelia doesn't speak up until the door is closed, clicking behind David as almost a safety signal in her mind.

Mimi turns to him, eyeing him up and down after he sighed and retreated back to some computer program that she knows is just a tactic he uses so he doesn't have to talk to her.

"Geoffrey Thompson..," she trails off, shaking her head in an amused manner before crawling off of his designated bed, climbing under the covers of her own that rests adjacent, flicking off the lamp and leaving the room in darkness.

_I guess she really isn't ''anyone''..._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Quick update :o I hope you guys don't get too comfortable with it; probably won't be happening often ;)**

**Please feel free to point out any mistakes - I'd appreciate it greatly. **

**That is all.**

* * *

Amelia wakes with a startled yelp as the loud and obnoxious beeping of her alarm clock rings through her ears; she rolls off of her high mattress and onto the harsh fibers of the hand-woven rug resting net to her bed. With a groan she pushes herself from the floor, rubbing at her eyes tiredly as she exits her small bedroom, opening up into the neat and tidy flat; her flatmate's room adjacent to hers, a tight kitchen opposite of the bedrooms, only being separated from the rest fo the open-concept apartment by a breakfast bar. After finishing in the loo she retreats back to her room, hoping she hasn't woken Nolan. Seating herself in front of her old and worn vanity, she flips on the telly and watches it absentmindedly as she braids her mess of dark auburn curls into a braid. Changing out of her loose pajama pants, she exchanges her sleepwear for a simple ensemble she thought to be work-appropriate. She tediously fixed herself in the mirror after she finished dressing in the black pencil skirt that hugs the slight curve of her hips and a grey boat neck that reaches her elbows. Tucking a frizzy curl that escaped from her braid back into place, she slips her yellow peacoat on and shuffles through the front room, hopping around in a ridiculous manner whilst attempting to put on her shoes and sifts through the litter of her University text books that clutter the normally tidy area.

"No goodbye this morning?" Nolan startles her, watching her with an amused smirk playing on his lips, leaning in the doorframe of his bedroom. She chuckles, placing her glasses on the bridge of her nose and blinking erratically until her eyes adjust.

"_Goodbye_, ya cheeky bastard," she smirks, gliding over to the kitchen and pulling an apple of an endearing shade of green from the fridge. "Drinks later, yeah? I've got no classes tomorrow."

The young man with mousy brown hair grins toothily, his cloudy green eyes holding a pleased and excited quality. "Will any of your secret agent _friends_ be tagging along?" he emphasizes.

"I have no friends," she chuckles shortly, biting into her apple.

"What about that bloke who was here before you went on that oh-so-secret little _trip _just three weeks ago?" he makes air-quotes on the last word, wagging his eyebrows suggestively as Amelia makes her way toward the door.

"That actually was a trip; work stuff," she clarifies seriously, shrugging. "And that was Q. He's my _boss_," she narrows her eyes playfully, her hand hovering over the door knob as she emphasizes the word _boss_.

"What kind of a name is Q?" he furrows his eyebrows, not understanding the reason for her amused expression.

"Its what we refer to him as. You wouldn't be able to grasp it, being a common folk and all," she teases playfully, laughing her usual story laugh that resembles the effortless tinkling of glass chimes.

He scoffs, smiling widely. "Oh, just get to work. The Tube'll be a complete bitch at this hour," he makes his way over to the front room, plopping himself onto the couch that's covered in notes scribbled with spidery print and text books with more pages than the Holy Bible.

"See you later, arsehole!" Amelia calls as she closes the door on her way out, skipping down the five flights of stairs until she reaches ground level, walking briskly through the frigid winter air, her feet crunching in the light dusting of snow on the footpath beneath her shoes, Dusty Springfield flowing into her ears from her headphones that are covered by her raspberry red beanie.

* * *

"Good morning, Mimi!" Eve calls out to McTavish as she passes through the entry hall, making her way to Q Branch. "Are you well today?" the wild-haired woman catches up to Amelia, shuffling in her heels before matching her pace, holding a clipboard to her chest with her signature graceful smile effortlessly etched onto her face.

"I'm brilliant, thank you for asking, Eve," Amelia replies, removing her headphones and uncoiling her loose plaid scarf from her neck, smiling lightly. "And you?"

Moneypenny nods enthusiastically, her short raven hair bouncing in all directions at the action. "I'm superb. Could do with some tea, though..," she implies, giggling.

"Ha-ha, Moneypenny." Her voice lacks genuine humour. "Newbie's still on tea-duty, huh?" Amelia asks with a soft smile, referring to herself, taking her beanie off and smoothing down her long braid.

"Precisely!" Eve titters, patting her on the shoulder thrice as they part ways, Mimi telling her to come and get her tea after she's done with M. Amelia sighs, shaking her head in an amused manner, entering the empty lounge and hanging her coat on the rack before striding over to the small kitchen area and going straight to the bottom cabinet, bending down and rummaging through its contents for some suitable mugs, unaware that she was not alone.

Geoffrey had slipped in right behind her, going unnoticed, and he watched her silently wiggle around as she searched through the bottom cabinet, an eyebrow raised. "Ahem," he mutters, shying away and averting his eyes from her backside.

Amelia jumps, smacking her head against the inside of the cabinet, and slowly pokes her head out, clutching it with a hand. "Great timing," she mumbles sarcastically, rubbing the top of her head and grabbing two mugs as she stands quite uneasily. "Tea?" she asks with a sigh, squinting due to the dull, throbbing pain in her head.

"Yes," he answers shortly, leaning on the counter next to her with his arms folded. "They've still got you on kitchen-duty?" he asks with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm still the newbie," she sighs, filling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop, propping herself up on the counter next to Q.

"You've been here for two months," he defends, shifting his weight onto his right foot, inching away from her slightly. She notices, raising her own eyebrow in turn. Ultimately brushing it off, she shrugs and pours the steaming water into three mugs, eliciting a familiar and thought-calming scent as the water seemingly coaxes the tea leaves from their confinement, creating interesting swirls that dance around in the cups, spreading in copper tendrils.

Amelia hands Q his mug, the young man gratefully accepting it in return and taking a prolonged, tentative sip, watching her intently as she scribbles down a note and tapes it to the third mug. He raises an eyebrow.

"Eve's," she answers without glancing upward, cradling her own warm drink in her hands and bringing it to her lips, licking them in satisfaction. The young man gulps, glancing down at his shoes.

"You're 26, aren't you?" she asks casually and without previous context, taking another mouthful of Earl Grey.

"How did you know that?" he asks with genuine interest, looking up and quirking an eyebrow.

"I know a lot of things," she shrugs with a slight smirk. "That's how I work; nobody has a clue who I am, but I've got every one of you memorized," Amelia answers truthfully.

"I've got a pretty good clue who you are," he challenges with a smug grin, absentmindedly stroking the handle of the mug with his thumb.

"Enlighten me, Geoffrey," she exhales, propping herself up on the counter once again.

He stares at her once more, his eyes never leaving hers as he takes another sip of his tea, preparing to give her full backstory. "You were born in Sparta, Greece - your mother's hometown - on December 17th, 1992 to your legal birth name of Yypatia Amelia Gamoulakos-McTavish. Your father worked for the CIA but was originally from Ireland. He met your mother while on a mission just months before he was blacklisted, and they eventually married, thus creating... _You_," he circularly motioned in an awkward manner with his hands to the girl, causing her to snicker lightly. Geoffrey continued. "You lived in Sparta until the age of three when you moved to Laon, France with both of your parents. Staying there for a year, your mother got a job as a professor at the University of Cardiff, so you relocated to Wales. You did exceptionally well in all of your classes throughout school, maintaining a perfect average, and are currently enrolled in university here in London, keeping up your reputation of achievement: majoring in Biochemistry. Your father passed away at age 40 eight years ago and your mother resides in Cardiff. You live at 221 Winslow Road in flat 31B which you share with one Nolan Butler. Did I miss something?" he asks in more of a statement as she just stares at him, and Q can't help the smile that's tugging at his lips, taking another sip of his cup of Earl Grey.

Amelia shakes her head, laughing breathily and walking away. She stops suddenly, turning her torso to face him again. "You should smile more often," her pale lips curve into a small grin.

Geoffrey rolls his eyes, chuckling once shortly. "Come along, McTavish," he persists, ushering her out, following the young girl.

Though he can't seem to bring himself to keep his expression placid, and enters the Q Branch with a faint smile gracing his features.

* * *

Various bids of goodnights and safe drives home are echoed throughout the sleek office, empty desks lined neatly and lacking beings, not to mention how eerie the large room seems without the incessant tapping of fingers at keyboards. Amelia sighs, pulling on her pea coat and draping her scarf around her neck, returning her beanie to its resting place over her disheveled braid. Her mobile buzzes in her bag and she retrieves it from the depths of the clutter swallowed by the satchel, slinging it over her shoulder.

_Is your skinny arse off work yet? I feel the need to get incredibly shitfaced right now. - Nolan_

Amelia chuckles, replying simply to his text.

_**Leaving now; hold your fuckin' horses.**_

Yet another vibration signals Nolan's instantaneous reply.

_Will your "friend" be joining us? ) - Nolan_

_**Are you high? He is my boss. Superior. Not someone I can just invite to the pub.**_

"Why ever not?" A deep voice startles her yet again, causing her to knock over the coat rack; clattering to the floor. "Jesus, Q..," she sighs, a hand on her heart. "Stop doing that."

He wears an amused expression, glancing at the cell in her hand. "Why am I not someone you can just ask to the pub?" he quizzes, his hands in the pockets of the sharp trench coat he wears.

Amelia shrugs. "Because I have social anxiety and you don't seem like that kind of person?" she replies, her tone rising with unsureness. Q chuckles heartily. "You have misjudged me."

Amelia folds her arms, jutting out a hip and scrutinizing him. "Come on, then," she grabs his hand, dragging him out of the building, unaware of the faint shade of red he's currently sporting, the rational voice in his head speaking up.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Geoffrey?_


	6. Chapter 6

**This is actually all just... **_**Fluff**_**. I wrote this in roughly around an hour, and since its just a filler I really didn't think it was an issue since its a few hundred words short of my usual already-short-enough chapters. I didn't want to bore you. **

**Critique is welcome; knock yourselves out. If you see a mistake, correct it :) **

* * *

The short walk to The PunchBowl is filled with silence, the sloshing of slush beneath their shoes being the singe sound eliciting from the two young adults.

Light snow starts to fall from the sky as they round a corner and Amelia tucks her hands into the pockets of her bright yellow coat, shuddering in the cold. No matter the temperature, she's always cold, now that she thinks about it. As the quirky pair turn a corner the stench of alcohol is obnoxiously blatant. Q wrinkles his nose, causing the young girl to chuckle. "Were you wrong when you said I misjudged you?" she raises an eyebrow, an inevitable childish grin on her face, inching closer nudging Q with her elbow playfully.

He quickly shifts away, covering his insecurity with a forced and short-lived chuckle. "No, but I've never considered the aroma of intoxicated drunken men to be particularly pleasing."

Amelia lets out a smooth and endearing laugh, causing a small smile to rise on Geoffrey's face, opening the door for her and motioning her inside the pub they've reached that's titled _The PunchBowl_. The small establishment gives off a welcoming and accepting aura with its tightly knit tables and bar lined with colourful bottles of various spirits and liquor. Playing faintly in the background of the watering hole popular with university students are some languid tunes consisting of mainly Glen Hansard and Bon Iver; them being the only two Geoffrey can identify.

"Over here, dunce," the strong and proper voice of a Londoner calls from a table situated in a corner of the dimly lit pub. A smile breaks onto Amelia's face and she glides over to a man with light brown hair and a thin frame; similar to Q's. The young Quartermaster catches the fond gleam in his green eyes that hold the same free-willing quality as his trainee's. An uneasy and foreign feeling rises inside of Geoffrey. He quickly dismisses it, joining his lively colleague and her friend.

"Ay. Nolan." The man greets, introducing himself as they seat themselves down at the small, circular table.

"This is Q," Amelia juts a finger toward the geeky-looking fellow across from them, shrugging off her peacoat and directing her attention towards the bartender. Nolan nods at Geoffrey, extending his hand. An awkward shake and temporary silence later, Amelia scoffs agitatedly. "Martin!" she calls to the young man behind the bar who's face is buried in a book. He lifts his head, wild blonde curls falling into his pale blue eyes. "Mimi!' he immediately brightens at the sight. "Let me guess; three Sink the Bismarcks?" Martin asks with an amused grin, knowing his regular all too well.

"Mimi?" Geoffrey asks with a quirked eyebrow and slight smirk as the young girl turns back to her table of acquaintances. "Mimi is your nickname?"

She titters lightly. "After I changed my name rightfully to Amelia I thought it'd be simple enough. Apparently not; lazy arses insist on shortening it. How the fuck do you stick with Yypatia in Britain? You don't. Besides, Amy is far too generic."

"I call her Pond," Nolan pipes up, ruffling her hair that's already freed enough from her braid.

"Pond?" Q furrows his eyebrows.

"She is a Doctor Who fanatic," Nolan clarifies. "Amelia Pond?"

At this, Q raises his eyebrow yet again, containing a laugh and chuckling abruptly, the entertaining grin remaining glued to his face. Martin personally brings their drinks over on a tray, bowing sarcastically after placing them on the table. "Anything else for m'ilday and her attractive male acquaintances?" the man wags his eyes suggestively, earning himself a harsh slap across the arm. "That'll be all, you cheeky bastard," Amelia quips back, failing to contain the grin that graces her thin lips. Sipping on her beer, she cradles the amber liquid in her hands, leaning back slightly and relishing the feeling as it snakes down her throat with a slight burning sensation.

Nolan clears his throat. "So," he starts, a sly expression smeared onto his playful-eyed, high-cheekboned face. "What happened in this intimately secret little trip to Hungary?"

Mimi chokes on her beer at the absurd comment, placing a hand on her chest and attempting to cease the sputtering. "It was not _intimate_," she growls, kicking him underneath the table, eliciting a short whimper from the man. "And you're not even supposed to know about that: sensitive information. Stop reading my text messages." Geoffrey chuckles in a gruff voice at their banter, taking a swig of the alcohol that rests before him, squinting at its strong and blunt taste.

"41 percent alcohol," Amelia chuckles, crossing her legs and turning slightly to Q, regarding his sour expression.

"Jesus, Amelia," the Quartermaster coughs faintly, earning another giggle from his trainee. "Now I know what substance abuse was referring to on your bio."

* * *

"I'm shitfaced and I have to work at the diner tomorrow," Amelia groans after her fifth beer as they exit, and Q mentally scolds himself for acknowledging how adorable she is even when drunk. They're currently dragging themselves down the quiet and nearly abandoned footpath alone, as Nolan departed shortly after the pair of agents arrived; something about going out of town early. The young woman leans on her colleague for support and Geoffrey gratefully accepts the physical contact, resting a hand on her coin-sized waist, keeping her upright. Arriving at Amelia's flat, he reluctantly releases his tender grip on the girl and stares at her tired face which is illuminated by the orange streetlight above. "You can stay here if you want to. The Tube's been closed for hours and public transport at this hour is frightening," she mumbles nonchalantly in a slightly incoherent voice as opposed to her normal calm and sensible tone. He smiles dumbly with half-closed hazel eyes, following her up the many flights of stairs and watching her fumble with her keys with slim and clumsy fingers.

"Excuse my textbooks," she utters with a yawn after successfully unlocking the door. Amelia chucks her bag onto the sofa as she passes it, releasing her wild curls from their contained braid with relief. "You can take the couch. Or Nolan's bed. Your choice," her sleepy voice echos from her small bedroom and she emerges clad in pajamas as she tosses the blushing Quartermaster a set of men's bedclothes.

"Amelia?" he calls after her retreating form and she quizzically pops her head out from her bedroom, rubbing at her dark eyes.

"Yes?"

He bites his lip. "Thank you."

A warm smile breaks out onto her face, followed by an exasperated chuckle that's quickly intermingling with a feminine yawn. "You're welcome."

_Oh, Amelia McTavish... _

* * *

**That was actually painfully short... I'm sorry. I promise to redeem myself next chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**All I'm going to say is don't confuse drunkenness with OOCness.**

**-Lennon**

* * *

Amelia sits out on the small balcony, lounging in the same spot as she has been for the past two hours. A tangle of pale limbs, her legs dangle over the edge and the crisp wind tickles them with soft whispers and secrets. She leans back, tilting her face up to face the sun that's desperately trying to free itself from behind the thick blanket of grey sky, peeking out from a cloud and casting rays of light to shine down on the city below; businessmen bustling about to catch The Tube this early in the morning - seven past five o'clock. In her sleeping attire all of her flaws are blatant, and she realizes this. The young girl has always been held at gun-point by self-consciousness and panic attacks. She is not broken, she is not weak, she is a master of disguise and deception, and she could fool the cleverest man in the universe. All of the facts she despises about herself are harsh and real in the growing sunlight: her prominent collarbone and ribs, childish and willowy figure, pale complexion and everything fucking out of place curl and her entire goddamn _existence_. She has never felt more naked and fragile since her father was killed. MI6 is overwhelming and her steady job is overwhelming and university is overwhelming and everything is overwhelming so she just wants to hibernate until the world has ended.

Little does the observant boy know that the object of his interest is observant as well.

His studious eyes rake over her crumpled frame. Her disgruntled frame. Her exposed frame that isn't harboring her sea of emotions. _Her beautifully abused frame_.

Dangerous waters are being entered with his last thought, and he pushes it back behind the logical dam he keeps up for times like these, even if there's never been a time like this with any other being. Focusing his attention on her physical appearance to hopefully rid his mind of those absurd thoughts that should never be thought again about his trainee; no matter how mild, escalation is possible, and highly forbidden by himself to himself.

There is no doubt in his mind that she isn't attractive; _Hormones are doing this to me. Yes... Yes, that's it. Not to mention your drunkenness last night; practically draping your arms over her. Don't let that happen again._

"Are you gonna stand there like a big idiot?" Amelia asks without turning her head, and the young man's eyes dart up to the back of her head rather than her _everywhere else_.

"Sorry," Q states, his hands in the pockets of the borrowed checked pajama pants. With a raised dark eyebrow and detached expression, his strides over to her, leaning on the thick railing that she sits on. "If you fall I won't have anyone to make me tea," he comments, looking down at the many floors below them and the hard pavement that would ultimately break every dainty bone in her body, gulping.

"I'm not going to fall. Tanner could always make your tea, if I did," she replies with an equally as placid and expressionless face. He sees her put her walls back up all around her, enclosing the young woman in her very convincing mask that depicts a happy being. Glancing back out at the city before them, he clears his throat. "You're better at making it." The frank statement is meant to be hinting at something else, almost a term of slight affection, but he reckons she didn't catch it.

Oh, but she did.

Quirking an eyebrow, she climbs from her perch and hops onto the safety balcony, the cold concrete harsh on her bare feet. Amelia meets his eyes, being only an inch shorter than the lithe man, and stares at him for a few seconds.

_What are you hiding, dear Quartermaster... _

She huffs in a malcontented manner, her arms falling limply at her sides and the shrug exposing her shoulder from underneath the long aztec cardigan she sports as a shield from the winter wind. His eyes dart to her flesh for a second, retreating back up to her frowning face. "Sorry, just... I'm still drunk," he excuses himself for his behaviour, stammering. "Sorry..."

Amelia nods, their faces both calm and unaffected as they share a prolonged gaze. She turns swiftly on her heel after a moment, her form retreating back into the house.

"Amelia. You should take your walls down sometime." Geoffrey states flatly, causing the young woman to stop dead in her tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

"What?" she hisses carefully, her expression contorting to something undetectable.

"I said you should take your walls down sometime," he repeats, blinking from behind his glasses.

She starts to stride up to him harshly and with purpose. Geoffrey braces himself to be slapped, squinting his eyes and cowering away, but instead of the sting he's assuming to feel, arms snake around his neck forcefully and lips press against his own. They stagger back a few steps and the young man finds himself pulling her to him, closing the small distance that once was and relishing the sensation of her thin frame against him, feeling himself heat up. Trapping her against the wall, one hand placed firmly on the small of her back, pulling her against him, and the other on the brick behind her, tracing his tongue smoothly across her lip. She lets out a soft whimper in response and he smirks against her lips. He lifts her with ease by the hips, legs coiling around his torso in return. She twirls his dark curls around her fingers, Geoffrey breathing heavily against her warm skin and tracing circles on the thigh he supports with a hand. He never does this, but she intrigues him more than any other with those kaleidoscope eyes and unmatchable quick-wit and cleverness.

Amelia gasps, pulling away abruptly. Q cranes his neck towards her desperately, trying to capture her lips again, but ultimately composing himself better. "I am so hungover. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry... I-" she stammers and releases her grip on him, Geoffrey reluctantly setting her onto her feet again with pleading hazel eyes, his hands falling from her hips and grazing her sides as they rest limply next to him.

"I shouldn't have done that, Q. I'm sorry," she bites her lip, making it even harder for him to return to his normal self of calm confidence and self-assurance.

"No harm done, McTavish. That was completely inappropriate for me to continue," he says with no trace of emotion registering on his face, running a hand through his hair and fixing his glasses. _I warned you, _the logical and scorning voice echos in his head. What the bloody hell was he going to do after this? _You've just nearly sucked the face off of your trainee who also happens to be five years younger than yourself. Good luck, bastard. _

"I have work at the diner..," Amelia trails off, regarding the lightening grey sky on the horizon behind him before gliding her gaze back over to him, the young and innocent girl still breathing heavily. Q nods curtly, sweeping past her quickly and bidding, "I'll see myself out." With his back to her, her traces his reddened lip where hers fit just mere minutes before. _Don't you __**ever **__do that again._

* * *

Wiping down the shiny white counter before the customers start pouring in, Amelia leans on her forearms and buries her head into her hands, her wisps of curly hair acting as a shield from the prying eyes of the kitchen staff and other waitresses that occupy the 50's style diner.

"You ok, Freckle?" the honey sweet voice of Martha, another waitress and mate, calls over to Mimi's exasperated form. Amelia looks up, regarding the 31-year-old who still holds childish qualities to her. There was no doubt that Martha would be described as "sexy", though, by every male on the planet - it was a known fact. With her long, straight black hair and full lips, she attracts quite a bit of attention, and her tips are always bountiful. Martha regards Amelia with worried blue eyes, her lips curling downwards into a frown. "Freckle, what's wrong?" using her nickname that's only spoken by the other diner employees usually makes Mimi feel better.

But how the hell could she feel better about what had just taken place a few hours ago? She's still fuming with rage, stomach tied in knots with anxiety, mind boggled with confusion; an entire sea of emotions being held captive behind her usual smirk.

"I snogged my boss," she states flatly, looking up to meet Martha's surprised expression with a calm face.

Martha's face contorts into one of amusement, letting out a feminine giggle. "That's no big deal, Freckle. I've snogged more of my managers than you can count on your fingers." She winks slyly.

"No, Martha. I didn't kiss him, I _kissed_ him." The raven-haired woman knits her perfectly arched eyebrows together in confusion. "Why are you upset? He didn't kiss you back?" she asks.

"He pinned me against the wall and fuckin' kissed me back."

Silence falls between the two women before the older one speaks up. "Amelia, I don't understand you sometimes. I know I'm pretty thick; I never tested well, never went to secondary school, but I'm smart enough to know that you overthink things with that brilliant mind of yours. Sometimes you have to look at things like other, normal people do."

"How can I? How can I just let go of all the pained shades of grey I see in between when others are content with the simple black and white? That isn't me." Anger starts to rise in her, and she just wants to burst into MI6 and punch Q right in that placid face of his for allowing her to kiss him. Allowing that completely inappropriate moment to continue when he should have just pushed her away instead of feeding her insanity with his wandering hands and pleading eyes and tantalizingly confusing lips that fogged her logical brain and conflicted her. She is a ravenous beats of prey with a wild war rampaging inside of her.

Martha drapes an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her back reassuringly. "You're clever. You're stronger than any other. You'll deal with this boy."

* * *

"Why'd you come in today, Q?" a familiar deep and raspy voice calls from the end of the empty and long office of Q Branch, closing the glass door behind him. The young Quartermaster groans behind the shelter of his laptop.

"To strengthen the firewall," Geoffrey answers simply, lying through his teeth. He rakes a hand through his hair, removing his glasses and sighing into his hands.

"I was trained in the art of deception, Q. You aren't fooling me," Bond quips in a frank and slightly superior tone that irks Geoffrey to no end.

"You wouldn't understand, 007. Just leave," the young man demands, slamming his curled fists onto the mahogany desk, causing his tea to spill from the scrabble mug onot the surface of the table.

Bond leans against his desk, arms folded. "I do understand, Q. I understand how she makes you wish to completely ignore her, then she does something so _like her_ that you just need to wrap your arms around the girl. You look at her with cold and hard eyes but they don't faze her. Nothing like the others who've slept in your bed and been abandoned in the morning without so much as a note, you'd like to keep her there and memorize every movement, connect every freckle, trace every abundant scar. As absurd as it seems, you fancy this girl, and you cannot do a single bloody thing about it."

Geoffrey just stares at him with narrowed eyes, his chin resting on his hand. "And how would you know that?" he hisses.

"Her name was Vesper Lynd."

"I am not in love, if that's what you're implying, James," Q shoots in a harsh tone, scoffing. He was not in love, that was the truth. He was married to his job.

"But you have kissed her, and you did not want to stop, yes?" The slightly older man holds in his smirk. His Quartermaster has been hiding something recently, something not many of them catch. He leans on the desk, closing Q's laptop and regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "You did not want to let her go, did not want to stop hearing her breathe so close to you, did not want to take your hands out of her hair-"

"First of all, Bond," Q interjects with anger in his voice, "I didn't fuck her. I wouldn't dream of that. And second of all, I am a hormonal twenty-six year old and she is young and attractive. We were both hungover this morning."

James chuckles, low and hearty. "This morning? You snogged her this morning for the first time? Is that why you came into work? Oh, of course it is. Leave it to you to run from an intelligent and gorgeous woman right back to MI6." He lets out another laugh. "But listen, Geoffrey. Hormones are at play here, but do they make her even more beautiful in the morning or when she's doing something as simple as tucking her hair behind her ears? Think about that. I am not saying you are in love, I am saying you fancy this girl, no matter how much or how little, you do."

Q points to the door. "Get out."

* * *

"G'night, Freckle! If you don't feel better give me a ring. We'll watch shitty 80's movies all night and drink those bloody concoctions that taste like hell." Martha calls from the door before she exits, it dinging behind her as she darts across the busy street. Amelia chuckles lightly, the noise quickly ceasing as anger rises inside of her again. She mutters insanities under her breath as she sits on the counter in her ridiculous uniform; a black skirt that covers to mid-thigh paired with stockings and a red collared shirt that reaches her elbows. She rests on the counter, swinging her legs to Pomplamoose's _Bust Your Knee Caps_ that plays faintly from the jukebox in the dim light as she rolls napkins around utensils to secure them.

"_Johnny there's still time, together I know we'd go so far. I'll tell Uncle Rocco to hold off the guys with the crowbars. You call it crime, we call it smart family business... And the family is famous_," Amelia sings under her breath, humming lightly. Music could make her feel less homicidal: that was fact.

"I didn't know you could sing," a voice startles her, but her surprise is quickly replaced with rage, her deep brown eyes narrowing. "Geoffrey" she hisses in greeting, grasping a fork so tightly her knuckles start turning white.

"Amelia," he nods, taking a tentative step towards her from the door, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trench coat with a detached expression.

"What'd you want?" her eyes narrow.

"I wanted to speak with you," he answers with an authoritative tone in his voice.

"Well I don't wish to do the same," she stabs, turning back to the forks and knives and frivolously blanketing them in napkins in a uniform fashion, expertly tucking the corners underneath.

"Don't be childish, Amelia," he scoffs, approaching her.

"Fine," she looks up with a fake and cutthroat smile. "I'll be rational and frank. You should have stopped me, but you didn't. You confused me while I was vulnerable and I don't bloody appreciate that," she looks back down at the task at hand, ignoring his eyes.

Q laughs once, harshly. "You were the one who initiated the kiss, if I recall correctly. Why would you do that in the first place?"

Mimi glares up at him with a vengeful gleam in her usual carefree eyes, hopping down from the counter and throwing a handful of spoons down, them landing on the floor with a clatter. "You mentioned my walls. No one sees them. It was some spontaneous and completely inappropriate gesture that should never have happened." She folds her arms. "Oh, but you were glad it did." A smirk rises on her lips and she leans on her right leg, facing him yet remaining a good few feet away.

"What are you talking about?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"You didn't push me away like you should've. In fact, Q, you pushed me against a wall," she states smugly. "Just because I haven't snogged anyone-"

An amused expression crosses his face. "You've never snogged anyone before me?" he interrupts.

"No," she furrows her eyebrows. "But that is hardly relevant."

"I was Amelia McTavish's first kiss," he muses, smirking.

"Don't get more cocky than you already are," she quips, raising an eyebrow. "And stop changing the subject. Don't think that I didn't notice where your hands were or your ragged breaths. I may be a prude but I am no fool."

"No, you aren't a fool. You are brilliant and inquisitive with a brain to defeat the head of CIA and your quick-wit annoys the hell out of me, but I keep you around. Don't be cross with me for not stopping myself from kissing such a woman. Be logical. I'll see you at work tomorrow," he turns on his heel, exiting the small establishment, leaving the young girl in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Warning that this is just...****_fluff_****. I felt like I needed to develop some sort of bond between them before just jumping into anything. I promise the following chapters will be much more exciting, hense 009. **

* * *

Amelia stretches in her chair, arching her back and rubbing at her eyes with exasperation. Her blood still boils at the thought of the events that had passed twenty-four hours ago. How dare he do something like that then try to defend himself? She had vowed to herself before she came to work never to call him by his real name or even the single consonant for Quartermaster, just because she knows how much it annoys him. The self-assured bastard deserves to suffer for a few days. If feeling superior is what he wants, than that is what he shall get.

"Ms. McTavish," Q beckons from the front of the room. She gets up routinely, her loafers clicking quietly against the floor, approaching his desk and regarding him with as little hostility as she can muster. "What do you need, sir?"

He flinches. Q despises when he calls her that, which has been all morning considering their altercation the previous night after the incident. "Tea," he answers flatly, dragging his eyes over her form and back down to his laptop screen. She nods, scoffing as she turns around and starts her journey to the kitchen. "I'm your trainee, not your bloody secretary," is mumbled under her breath as she forcefully pushes the glass door open, trudging down the maze of seemingly endless grey hallways and through arches.

Filling the kettle, she sets it on one of the burners and waits impatiently for the water to boil. Amelia groans as a familiar man in a sharp grey suit turns the rounded corner, appearing in her viewpoint. "007," she greets with an irate voice.

"009," he nods at her in return, a small smile tugging at his lips as her eyes go wide in shock and painted red lips part in astonishment. "What?!"

"Welcome to the double-oh section, McTavish," a full smile breaks out onto to his face as she nearly tackles him to the floor with a hug, her lips curled into the widest grin he's ever seen, exposing her endearing and childish tooth gap.

"When do I start in the field?" she asks quickly, stumbling over her words and shaking with anticipation. He chuckles, rubbing his hands over her forearms to calm her down. "Two weeks of evaluation and then you start. Physical, psychological, medical... Just standard procedure," he smiles at her. They had grown closer over the past few months, almost being considered friends now despite that whopping age gap. They had both seen things that shattered them, broken them at such ripe ages. The only thing they had in common was their hidden pain.

And of course their absurd hunger for danger.

Amelia presses her lips together, another smile threatening to break through. The shrill and inhuman screams of terror erupting from the kettle ring through their ears, crumpling the excited moment. She scoffs, recalling the reason she's in the kitchen in the first place, and aggressively fills his stupid mug, plopping in three sugar to the mixture of Earl Grey.

"Q told me about what happened," Bond states frankly with his usual calm demeanor, holding his hands behind his back.

"Bastard," she mumbles under her breath, her hands shaking as she stirs Q's specified concoction.

"Amelia, don't get your knickers in a twist. He's a clever boy; he'll do the right thing if he knows what's good for him," Bond chuckles lightly, patting her on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Now I know why Kate was ready to shoot him my first day here," she grumbles, brushing past James and heading back to Q Branch.

"Here," Amelia states flatly, nearly shattering the mug as she slams it down onto his desk.

"Thank you, Ms. McTavish," he replies, eyeing her coolly as she walks back to her seat and quickly opens a small window on his computer, taking a sip of his tea. An instant message pops onto Amelia's laptop, ceasing her incessant typing.

**Told you I'd have no one to make me a decent cup of Earl Grey if you'd fallen - Q**

The young girl rolls her eyes, quickly typing in a cold response.

_**Was that supposed to be a compliment? We get paid the size of your ego, dear Quartermaster. You could get anyone to do it for the right price. Perhaps you could kiss them then be a jumped-up arse about it? Sounds familiar - 009 **_

Nothing. Only the repetitive growing ellipsis that indicates a response is being typed. Amelia rolls her eyes in irritation, closing the window with a scoff and going back to decoding a minor encrypted file. She was still mediocre at best when it came to high level firewall, but she could easily bypass most security protocols and uncover hidden, attached documents. It calms her and was a hobby she picked up in high school after a test to see her undoubtedly exceptional mark earlier. Another message interrupts her yet again.

**Amelia? - Q**

She furrows her eyebrows, typing in a reply and spinning around in her chair, shooting him a confused look.

_**What? - 009**_

He glances up at her, raising his eyebrows before averting his gaze back down to his slender fingers gliding swiftly across the keyboard, hitting delete more times than she can count before sighing and pressing enter reluctantly, looking up and taking another sip of the hot liquid.

**I'm sorry - Q**

A small and appreciative smile spreads across her face and she bites her lower lip, spinning back around to face her laptop.

_**There's that clever boy - 009**_

The man chuckles, attracting attention from his fellow colleagues that occupy the office from the banks of computers in front of him. He coughs conspicuously. "Back to work then." Q eyes them coldly, raising an eyebrow before smirking to himself and setting his mug down, setting his attention back on the task at hand, but not before stealing another glance at Amelia as she exits the office to retrieve some status reports to deliver to Moneypenny.

"Does Q have an office crush?" David's voice pipes up, earning dirty looks and some snickers from the polar opposites of the division; work oriented and sensible versus the ignorant and impish.

"That is frankly inappropriate, Mr. Garcia. Need I notify M of what took place in Hungary? I don't think so," Q shoots back swiftly, shutting the minion up as he turns back to his computer mumbling insults. The Quartermaster takes another sip of his tea smugly.

* * *

"Goodnight, sir," a painfully shrill voice calls from one of the computers, clearly not intending to leave anytime soon. The fragmented voice belongs to one of the minions; a blonde-haired, busty, arse-kisser.

"Huh?" the man looks up, meeting her batting blue eyes from across the empty room. "Oh, goodnight Ania," he replies, pushing his glasses farther up his nose with disinterest as his gaze promptly falls back on the flashing computer screen of binary codes. Nothing of any difficulty for the brilliant technological genius, but enough to keep him excused from having to speak with the woman who's currently approaching him. Heels click obnoxiously behind her.

The woman referred to as Ania leans on his desk, toying with an expensive-looking gadget as she speaks, brushing her hair over her shoulder in a coy manner, exposing her shoulder and the thin fabric of the white blouse lining her cleavage. Of course, a few buttons were obviously undone for added affect. Geoffrey mentally scoffs, keeping his eyes trained narrowly at his laptop.

She sighs in an innocent manner, her chest rising and falling dramatically. "Is what David said true? 'Bout you and McTavish?" she asks, her smile not being able to contain the slight scowl that shadows her normally cheery features as she utters Amelia's name.

"No," the Quartermaster answers flatly and a little too quickly, his eyebrows absentmindedly knitting together at something on his computer screen. "We are acquaintances," Q adds defensively. It wasn't a lie; they were only mates. She didn't ask him if he'd like it if something _was _happening between them, after all.

"That's good," she smiles coyly, causing him to glance up at her in confusion. "Why is that?" he quizzes, eyebrows furrowed.

"Because..," she breathes, gliding around the perimeter of the large desk, regarding him with a sly smirk. "Now," taking his tie into her hands, "I get to do," Ania twirls his tie, inching closer to his face, "this-"

"Hey, Geoffrey, I got those design plans that you asked-" Amelia walks in, eyes going wide in amusement and plain shock. She clears her throat, failing at containing a grin. "For." He glances at her with pleading eyes, Ania still grasping his tie tightly and shooting Mimi a look of annoyance and plain disgust, upturning her nose slightly in superiority. Amelia sighs, scoffing and slipping the blueprints out from under her arm, placing them on one of the minion's desks. "Ania, love," she starts, slipping an arm through her coat. "you're a gorgeous girl, but fucking your way up the food chain isn't the way to go. Plus, I think Q's gay." She frees her wild curls from underneath the collar of her military jacket, adding the last bit quietly with a small and taunting smirk, the young Quartermaster scowling at her in return.

Ania looks from both of them repeatedly, clear confusion written on her tan face. "I'm done with this," she huffs dramatically, letting go of her grasp on Q's tie and swiftly gliding over to her desk, scooping her coat under her arm and storming out, the click of her heels echoing all the way down the stone archways.

Amelia bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over as she grabs the blueprints again, walking to his desk and managing to set them down without disrupting the litter of files and spilled Earl Grey that stains a fair few manila folders. He adjusts his tie, clearing his throat continuously and feeling himself grow hot.

"Sorry to interrupt your office fuck," she snickers, propping herself up on his desk and leaning over to peek at his laptop screen.

"Must you be so vulgar?" he rolls his eyes, pulling a mobile chair over and plopping down into it, ignoring his work and waiting for her to speak again. She has a nice voice, he notes. Nothing too shriekingly feminine; it was almost sultry, and easy on the ears. He liked it when she ranted about things she was passionate about.

_If only you could be one of those things, huh, you inappropriate bastard?_

"Yes," she replies, swinging her legs in a childish manner, smirking at him.

_You could think of a few ways to wipe that smirk off of her face, couldn't you?_

Q clears his throat, quickly averting his eyes to the keyboard in front of him. "Planning on leaving any time soon?" His fingers fly furiously over the keys, distracting him somewhat. "You've got nothing more to do."

"Nolan won't be here for another thirty minutes. He doesn't want me to take the tube home tonight. Thinks I'm gonna get raped or something," she sighs, hopping off of her perch and rounding the desk to lean over him, watching the man work with swift fingers and flickering eyes, the bright green binary codes reflecting in his thick glasses. Q glanced at her through the corner of his eye, taking in her closeness. She was always warm and had a faint blush on her cheeks most of the time. She smelt of vanilla and sandalwood, as odd as it was. It was endearing. She was endearing.

"Scooch over," she squeaks after taking another long and hard look at the flashing computer screen before the both of them. "W-what?" he asks, stuttering slightly as she brings him from his daze of observing her.

Amelia rolls her eyes, scoffing. "I said scooch over. Your chair is big enough for the both of us." She juts her hip out, nudging him. "Q, you're so stubborn," she huffs, seating herself in his lap after he doesn't respond to her initial request. The young man widens his eyes in shock, clearing his throat and tugging on his collar. "What're you doing, McTavish?" he cocks an eyebrow, craning his neck to look her in the eye.

"Sitting," she replies sarcastically in an exasperated tone, flicking the page of the book she pulled out of her bag moments before. "Ooh, listen to this," she lifts up the hardcover in front of her face, shifting her position on his lap. Q bites his lip, hoping he's successfully hidden the shade of rouge his cheeks are inevitably turning. Amelia beings, dramatically reading an excerpt from _Lolita_: the novel that rests between her slender fingers. "_Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns..._"

"That sounds familiar," Q mumbles, averting his eyes.

Amelia cocks her head, sitting up as straight as a pin and regarding him with furrowed eyebrows. "What did you just say?" she asks in a low voice, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes. Geoffrey gulps, opening his mouth to defend himself or play it off as a joke, but the ringing of Amelia's mobile cuts through the thick silence hanging in the air like a heavy down comforter. She narrows her eyes, pulling her phone from her pocket with difficulty, given their current position. "Hello?" she greets into the device pressed against her ear.

"_I'm outside_," Q can hear Nolan's voice agitatedly replying. Amelia rolls her eyes. "I'll be out there inna minute," she drawls with her heavy Welsh accent in irritation. "G'night, Q," she bids, an odd expression on her face as she gets up.

"Are you smirking?" Geoffrey asks, his eyes following the sway of her hips in her tight skirt as she walks out, laughing along the way.

"Its fun to get you flustered," she turns back to him, winking and biting her lip coyly before closing the door behind her. Even as she leaves he's able to hear the echo of her intoxicating laugh. He chuckles to himself, leaning back in his seat and taking his cell phone from his pocket, clicking on her contact that he's not supposed to have.

_You little fucker, _he texts swiftly, sending the message and still smiling lightly to himself. Not long after, a reply is received.

_Speaking of fuck..._ A picture of Amelia's outstretched leg is attached, her skirt pulled slightly above the already knee-length. _I'm kidding,_ is quickly added to her joking banter. _Goodnight, bastard._

He smiles to himself, biting his lower lip in concentration as he thinks of something to type back with.

_As to you, 009. I'll see you tomorrow, my Lolita. _

* * *

**Feedback? Was I OOC? I tend to do that quite often, and I apologize... *sigh* **

**I hope it was alright :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This is really short... Minor conflict? Its currently 4:00am but I feel obliged to get this up for you. Feel free to point out any mistakes. I'm glad you people enjoyed the Lolita concept :)**

* * *

"Get some sleep," Nolan's teasing form appears in the doorway of his bedroom. "Your evaluations start tomorrow, don't they?"

"Shhh!" Amelia hisses, jerking her finger to the telly that illuminates her scolding face in the complete darkness of the flat. An abundance of blonde and tragic-looking young actresses are in turn flashing across the screen. "I'm watching The Virgin Suicides!"

Nolan rolls his eyes, letting his folded arms fall limply at his sides and joining her bundled form on the couch. "For the third time this week, Lisbon girl," he comments, throwing a blanket over her body that's clad in a sole long t shirt - probably one of his own that's been stolen by the young woman.

"I thought I was Lolita," she replies dreamily, her eyes fixed on television screen of the young girls lying limply on a bed, playing music from a record into a phone.

"I've never called you Lolita..." Nolan furrows his eyebrows. "And plus," he reaches over to Amelia, patting her on the back. "you're a prudish virgin. Last time I checked, young Dolores Haze was a sexually precocious 14 year old with a thing for her step-father." The statement earns him a harsh slap on the arm.

Nolan's signature mischievous grin returns, his green eyes alight with teasing. "Who called my innocent little Mimi a Lolita?" he quizzes. Amelia scoffs, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "If you must know, it was Q," she mumbles in return flatly, a deep shade of rouge gracing her cheeks and made ten times more prominent against the fluorescent glow emitting from the telly.

Nolan rolls his eyes, the smirk still present. "_Q fancies Amelia_," he sings in a generic tune, dragging out the syllables tauntingly, and Mimi slaps him upside the head. "That is absurd. Are you drunk? Go back to sleep," she scoffs, un-pausing her beloved movie.

"Fine," he raises his hands up in mock-surrender, heading back into his room. "You know," he starts, adding over his shoulder, "you're going to have to stop being so shocked every time some poor bloke shows the slightest bit of interest in you. It isn't the start of an apocalypse because he wants to get in your pants."

"Nolan!" she hisses, eyes wide as she whips her head around to face him. "Jesus!" A look of shocked repulse weighs down her pixie-like features as he swaggers back into his room, chuckling like a madman.

* * *

"Alright; your blood pressure is normal, vitals are in check..," the woman sporting a crisp white lab coat scribbles things onto her clipboard as she speaks. "Well," she chirps. "Moving on to the physical aspects of your first medical evaluation. Hmm," she taps her chin with the pen that's grasped between her painted fingernails. "Height: 5'7"," she declares and simultaneously records it on a sheet of paper. "Step on the scale for me, please," she smiles, gesturing Amelia over to the balance. The young girl steps on boredly, tucking a curl behind her ear that presumably came loose sometime during the grueling fitness tests she took just a few minutes before. "Weight: 119. Might wanna consider gaining a stone or two; your BMI is 18.1," the woman comments, earning a hidden eye roll from Amelia. If she had a pound for every time someone's said that to her, she'd be a millionaire.

"Now, let's see... Ah, measurements," the woman states. Upon closer inspection, Amelia notes that a nametag is attached to her coat. _Dr. Martin_. How very generic a name. "Bust: 32. Waist: 22. Hips: 33." Mimi feels herself heat up and becomes slightly angered as to why the hell they have her measurements in the first place - the young girl didn't even know them herself. "You seem to be in perfect health, Ms. McTavish. Moving onto the mental aspect of this test; Doctor Moser will be with you in a moment."

The man sitting across from her is hardly what she expected. As opposed to the usual short, stout male with round glasses and thinning hair, this one's young; attractive in a _Rebel Without a Cause _sort of way.

"Good afternoon, Ms. McTavish. This will be quick and painless, I can assure you. Just some simple word associations. For example, I might say day, and you might say-"

"Wasted," she cuts him off with the raise of an eyebrow. Doctor Moser - as he was referred to - chuckles at her, though the smile does not reach his pale eyes.

"Anyways, let's begin," he arranges a stack of papers in front of him, poising a pen in his hand before speaking again. "Yypatia."

"Dreadful."

"MI6."

"Dramatic."

"Time."

"Death."

A slightly confused expression washes over the man's features as he scrapes her answer down on his paper, shaking his head to himself before glancing back up at her. "Immortality."

"Torture."

"Gun."

"Necessity."

"Trust."

"Non-existent."

"Ending."

"Semi-colon."

"Q."

"Conquistador."

This earns yet another hearty laugh from the normally stoic man.

"Greece."

"Beginning."

"Home."

"Nowhere."

"Personal."

"Cage."

"Lolita."

Amelia blinks, her eyes narrowing. "I beg your pardon?"

"_Lo-lee-ta_," the doctor emphasizes flatly, carefully observing the troubled young girl's every move. Her balled fist, slitted eyes, set jaw, quivering lip.

She leans closer to him on the table, both her hands spread across the cold, grey surface. "_Irrelevant_," she hisses in declaration, pushing her chair out loudly and making a note to slam the door behind her.

* * *

The bathroom in Q Branch is quite nice, Amelia notes. In fact, its been half an hour and her butt hasn't fallen asleep yet from its perch on the counter. _Do people ever need to pee?_ she wonders as she glances around the vacant toilet. She wasn't needed here anymore, so she could leave whenever she pleased and go home to punch something instead. Amelia sighs, turning to the mirror behind her and busying herself with fixing her appearance with disinterest. Her eyes are tired, lids heavy and the shadows of dark circles rimming them underneath. With hair sticking in all directions, she resembles somewhat of the Tasmanian Devil portrayed in children's cartoon.

"You look fine," a voice startles her. "You always look fine." Q steps closer from his resting place, leaning against the far wall.

"Bloody hell, Geoffrey," she rolls her eyes after nearly falling off of the sinks. "Don't try and flatter me. If you want to help, you could give me a gun to shoot Doctor Moser." Her expression remains completely serious as she speaks.

"It wasn't that bad, Amelia. Do you honestly think anyone who happened to be watching the evaluation would understand that reference?" The Quartermaster inches closer, leaning against the counter with his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking up at her with the inevitable intent that's always present when she's near. "Even if they did, why would they care?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Minions are always moaning about how bored they are. Office gossip is what they feed off of. Do _you _honestly think that David - _whom was fucking watching the evaluation for reasons I shall not ask _- won't spread that like wildfire until someone realizes what it means?" she quips back, folding her arms. "Odd statements like that don't stay of unknown origin; they get spilled from pretty mouths."

"How'd you even know he was watching?" Geoffrey asks with genuine interest, not paying attention to the vast subject-change.

"I could feel his eyes through the two-way mirror," she shudders, narrowing her own pair of dark irises.

Q laughs lightly, raising an eyebrow. "So, are you planning on leaving the loo anytime soon?" he quizzes with a small smirk.

"No," she replies plainly in a breath.

"Just go home, McTavish." The statement sounds tired and serious. Less of a command, which are the usual sentences uttered by the Quartermaster's raspberry lips.

"Don't tell me what to do," she mocks in a fake nasally voice, succumbing to a fit of giggles. Q rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. "You're such a fool, Amelia."

"You know you love me," she pokes her tongue out at him. He takes a moment to study her. Under harsh fluorescent lighting her cheeks are hollow and freckles prominent. Even with squinted eyes and the small dimple in her chin she's got some sort of aura about her; an aura of liveliness and poems and just being _real_.

"Stop staring at me. You're making me self-conscious." She furrows her eyebrows at him. Q clears his throat out of habit. "Sorry. I'll leave you be now." He turns on his heel, being stopped by her small hand grasping his wrist tightly.

"Do you have to?"

A small smile creeps onto his face at the request and he keeps his back to her before composing himself appropriately. "We can go hide in my respective office," he raises his eyebrows at her for an answer.

"Ok," she chirps, the edges of her lips tugging upward slightly as she hops down from her perch and skips out of the bathroom.

* * *

"About the Stallin case..," Amelia pipes up, keeping her eyes fixed on a file in her hand. "What's the most recent update?"

Q removes his glasses, rubbing at his eyes exasperatedly as he turns to face her, his back to the large television screens on the far wall. "We're still working on him. That whole thing with Bond was just a coincidence. Stallin didn't plan anything... He heard that 007 would be in Budapest at that time and made a hasty decision. They were going to drown him in a couple rounds of lead then leave him in an alley somewhere. Quick and simple." The young man takes a few steps in either direction, starting to pace with hands clasped behind his back. "He's been spotted at a week-long arms dealing convention in Rome. We're thinking on taking him out there, but we've got no idea as to where he'll be staying. After his whole Bond plan was foiled he's been watching his back, so I doubt he's in the hotel where the event is being held. Tech is hounding me for some video footage but I don't," he slams his fist onto the nearest desk, "have any."

"Calm down," she raises her eyebrows, setting the thin stack of papers on Yeurig.

"You are in no place to tell me what to do," he barks. Amelia narrows her eyes at the now hostile man in return. "And _you_ need to learn to shut up sometimes," she hisses matter-of-factly, folding her arms as she approaches him with aggressive strides, her breath taunting his neck during their feud, body bent over to meet eyes due to him being seated.

"Oh, make me," Q quips back, glaring up at the girl.

She straightens, standing and glowering down with fire in her eyes. A fire that could burn up a sun. A few swift movements and she's back to her original position: sprawled across a mobile chair, spinning aimlessly with headphones in, divulging in _Playground Love_ and tapping her fingers in time on her leg. "I'm resisting the urge to smother you," she states calmly, tucking her phone back into the pocket of her spandex shorts.

He makes a face. "Well, _I'm_ resisting the urge to smother _you_."

_In kisses._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Extremely long wait for an update, huh? I apologize profusely. There are a mere 24 days left of school, and I've begun to study for final exams... I will indeed still try to update as much as possible throughout the next few weeks, though! Fear not, you lovely and magical woodland creatures!**

**Reviews feed my old soul.**

* * *

"Amelia, turn your bloody music down!" Nolan calls from his bedroom, his disgruntled and pajama-clothed frame appearing in the doorway. "Mr. Rodriquez from downstairs just called to complain, and I'm trying to study! I'm leaving for Brighton later tonight and I can't very well do that with my sisters there!" he scoffs, earning no submission from the young woman who's currently vacuuming the entire flat like a madman; her obsessive compulsive disorder blatantly apparent.

"Well, Mr. Roqriquez can go suck a dick," she shouts over the loud and vibrating hum. "And would you rather be listening to The Rolling Stones or the goddamned vacuum?"

Nolan rolls his eyes. "This place is clean enough. Give me the blasted thing, you little twat," he demands, his outstretched hand curling towards him like a scolding parent, motioning for her to relinquish her power of the vacuum to him. She shakes her head stubbornly, tossing the vacuum attachment from either hand with a devilish grin. "Make me, shitbrain."

"I just want to study in peace," he sighs, rubbing at his eyes exasperatedly and clearly trying to guilt her into doing what he wishes.

The irony that comes next is too rich.

A familiar choir chorus echos through the flat from Amelia's phone that rests connected to a docking station. Her smirk grows wide, doubling over into a fit of laughter before she composes herself to annoy Nolan further, singing into the handle of the vacuum dramatically from the other end of the room. "_I saw her today at the reception; a glass of wine in her hand. I knew she would meet her connection, at her feet was a footloose man. No, you can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. And if you try sometime, you'll find you get what you nee-_" her amusing ballad is stopped by a pillow hitting her harshly in the stomach, and Amelia rolls to the floor, quickly getting up in a defensive stance, bouncing on her feet slightly with a smirk. "Didn't your mother tell you never to fuck with a Double-O?" she teases, her childish grin exposing the gap between her front teeth, making her look younger than normal, despite the fact she already looks like a minor.

"Mimi," he sighs. Now that Amelia was trained in the arts of lying and manipulating situations, she could tell he was acting. He was damn good at it, though; she'd been to every one of his theatre performances at the university. "How is it that you've played Hamlet at the age of sixteen, yet you can't fool little Mimi?" she asks with mock-innocence, referencing to herself in third person.

"Little Mimi wasn't a highly trained field operative last year," he raises an eyebrow, stealthily moving around the couch and looking as if he's ready to pounce.

"Not this time!" Amelia shouts wildly with a grin, laughing as she bolts out onto the balcony, swiping past Nolan swiftly. _Thank fuck for extension cords_, she muses to herself, waiting expectantly for Nolan's attack.

It doesn't come.

Amelia furrows her eyebrows, poking her head back inside the warmth of the flat through the glass door that has been left wide open for the entire day. "Shitbrain?" she calls cautiously, taking a slow step into the apartment, holding the vacuum as if it were a weapon. "Nola-" her voice is cut short when a figure knocks into her from the side, tackling the girl to the ground. Amelia shrieks in surprise, quickly put a smirk back on her face as they both fight for dominance. "Give me the damned thing!" Nolan demands, though his tone is anything but. The grin on his face is boyish as he tickles Mimi, straddling her to make sure she can't escape.

"N-never!" she chokes out in between her fits of relentless laughter. "St-stop it, you wanker!" Amelia makes feeble attempts, swatting at his hands that snake their way up her torso with spidery fingers. "I have to answer the damn phone!" she squeals, finally being released. Nolan follows close behind her across the room, mockingly placing his head on her shoulder as she brings her mobile to her ear. "Hello?" she manages to utter, flicking Nolan on the forehead before striding over to plop down onto the couch, curling her legs underneath her. The persistent and curious young man quickly follows, leaning over with his ear on the opposite side of the phone.

"_Amelia_," Q's voice greets, lacking any emotion. She clears her throat, attempting to calm her nerves. "Yeah?" the young girl answers, smushing a hand over Nolan's smirking face.

"_Are you busy tonight? Moneypenny's having some sort of Christmas party at her flat. A bloody excuse to drink is what I call it... Are you planning on going?_" The slightest sliver of anticipation interchanges with his usual oppressive tone, causing Amelia to smirk.

"Q," she starts, a dramatic inclination of cockiness in her soft voice, "are you asking me out?" With the statement she shoots a glance to her left at Nolan, arching an eyebrow. The wide eyes on the young man eventually turn into a teasing and mischievous grin.

A long silence follows. A _very_ long silence, in fact. Amelia can imagine exactly what he's doing now: running a hand through his hair, taking off his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Typical Q.

"_Perhaps_," Geoffrey finally responds. "_It depends on your answer_," he adds calmly.

Nolan silently shakes his head with a smirk, regarding the young girl who's completely out of her element. Amelia chews her bottom lip, covering the speaker of the phone. "What the fuck do I say?" she hisses nervously, her eyebrows raised.

"How about a yes?" Nolan chuckles deeply, snaking a hand over and tickling her stomach, earning a giggle that's quickly followed by an annoyed huff and a harsh slap on the arm.

"Yes," Mimi answers rather quickly as she puts the phone back to her ear.

The smirk in Q's voice is evident with his next words. "_I'll be 'round at quarter to nine_."

The dial tone follows.

* * *

"Fuck!" Amelia groans loudly. "Nolan," she pokes her head out from her cluttered room, "you're a man."

"Last time I checked," he replies, raising his eyebrows and shoveling another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, straying his eyes from the television to shoot her a sideways glance.

"Well, then; what the Hell do I wear?" She steps out out of the doorframe, hopping over the back of the couch and plopping down with a huff, snatching the spoon from his grasp and dipping it into the bowl, pulling out a fair heaping.

"A shirt would be nice," he chuckles, eyeing her torso which is stark against the black bra she's currently sporting.

"Its not like I have tits," she raises her eyebrows seriously, keeping her gaze on the television as she licks the spoon clean. "They even proved that during an evaluation; 32 goddamn inches." This earns another laugh as he plucks the stolen utensil from her nimble fingers. "Just go put some clothes on. I highly doubt Q cares what you're wearing, if you even wear anything at all," Nolan teases.

"Can you stop making sexual advances on his part?" she scoffs, getting up with a huff upon hearing a knock at the door.

"Someone's gotta do it for him," he teases. Nolan rolls his eyes, getting up and following close behind her in an almost protective manner. "You're really going to open the door without a shirt on?"

"Its probably just Martha-"

"Or it could be Q," Geoffrey states calmly, successfully concealing the hitch in his breath upon Amelia opening the door. She steps behind Nolan, clad body taking shelter from Q's criticizing eyes.

"You're early," the young girl states flatly, clearing her throat in an awkward manner.

"It appears so," he raises an eyebrow in return, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, just come in," she rolls her eyes, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the flat, keeping her back to him, all the same. "I'll be out in a minute." The statement comes out as a groan, the door slamming behind her.

Nolan's eyes travel from her bedroom back to Q a few times before he seats himself onto the couch yet again, clearing his throat, as if the silence wasn't tense enough. "Don't mind Amelia," he chuckles shortly at Q. "Too much of a spitfire for her own good."

"Shut up, Nolan!" said girl's voice calls in return, muffled by the closed door.

Amelia lets out a long breath quietly from inside the comfort of her bedroom. _Why must the most awkward situations happen to me?_ she ponders, sliding into a pair of black high-waisted jeans that do a wonderful job of displaying what little curves they have to work with. Sighing as she smooths down her wild curls that have been inevitably ruffled during the process of squeezing into a maroon body-con, a huff escapes her.

"I'm fully clothed," she announces sarcastically, her tone laced with mock-enthusiasm, hopping over to the couch on one leg, shuffling into plaid oxfords. She looks to Q expectantly, the young man's jaw stiffening at the side of her. Coin-sized waist blatant in possibly the tightest shirt he's ever seen her in, long legs not needing the help of heels, and goddamn, her arse...

The only thing that he liked more than her depth and intellect was her behind.

"Stop looking at me like that. Your eyes are always so disapproving," Amelia scoffs, causing Q's gaze to travel swiftly back up to her face with raised eyebrows. "That wasn't disapproval," he mumbles as they exit, closing the door to Nolan's laughing behind them, the outburst due to the oblivious nymphet's naivety.

* * *

"Eve, last time I checked, we were all adults. Adults don't play Truth or Dare," Q spits out, rolling his eyes as he tips his head back to another mouthful of beer.

"Well, talking about twats from the office is hardly stimulating," Moneypenny quips back, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

Amelia clears her throat, bouncing her leg up and down absentmindedly from her seat parallel to Eve, Tanner, and an operative she doesn't know the name of. "I know a few University games, but they're pretty raunchy."

"I'm fine with raunchy," Bond announces with a sly smirk, earning a sock on the shoulder from Eve. "Name a few," the caramel-skinned woman grins, directing her gaze towards McTavish.

Mimi purses her lips - which are painted a dark shade of plum - together, raising her bottle halfway to her mouth. "Strip Poker, I've Never, Handy, Park Bench..." she trails off, waiting for an answer expectantly, taking another swig by the neck of the bottle between her hands.

"Handy?" A woman with rosy cheeks - recognized by Amelia as Lila: Eve's best mate - wags her eyebrows.

Mimi chuckles, shifting her position in the plush bean bag she childishly lounges on. "Pick two people, blindfold one of them and sit them down on a chair. Have the other stand or kneel in front of them. The one who's blindfolded has to use only their hands to guess who it is, "

"I'm intrigued. Let's do it," Eve chirps excitedly in her usual bubbly tone. "I volunteer Geoffrey!"

"Fuck all of you," Q narrows his oppressive hazel eyes, setting his drink onto the table adjacent to the kitchen chair he rests on as Moneypenny removes his glasses, tying a kerchief over his eyes.

As if on cue, everyone looks to Amelia expectantly. She chokes on her beer, shaking her head furiously, wild curls bouncing in all directions. Her silent protests are ignored, however, and the young girl is forcibly carried over Bond's shoulder and placed in front of Q. Huffing noiselessly, she takes Geoffrey's hands and places them on her hips.

He feels quite dirty; going to run his hands across her anyways. The young Quartermaster could tell even before the physical contact who it was. For starters, the entire group was obviously aware of his attraction to and feelings towards Amelia. It was only natural they'd torture him like this. Her intoxicating aroma was also a dead giveaway; no other being he knows smells of sandalwood and ginger.

"You're going to have to start sometime, Geoffrey. Go on and _guess_ when you're ready," Bond's husky voice announces, the arrogant smirk blatant with his tone. Q mutters something unintelligible, sighing and gulping in a hopefully inconspicuous manner as he begins to trail his hands up to her sides, grazing her impossibly tiny waist slowly. Over her shoulders and down her arms, his fingers tickling her own unintentionally. A furious blush taints Amelia's pale cheeks at the touch of his hands on her legs, fingers spidering across her thighs and stirring odd feelings within her through the tight denim.

"McTavish," Q states flatly after what seems like an eternity for the other participant. He removes his blindfold, locking eyes with hers which are wide in insecurity, eyebrows twisted.

_"My turn!"_

* * *

The walk back to Amelia's flat is long and silent, with awkward tension hanging low and tauntingly in front of the pair. The sounds of cars whizzing by, rattling garbage bins, obnoxious shrieks of drunken young students from windows lit by ill-placed and mismatched sets of Christmas lights.

The scuff of her shoes against the few rough concrete steps leading to the glass doors of the building's entrance interrogate his ears. She places a small hand on one of the doors, pausing for a moment and turning to face Q, a look of expectance resonating on her face for a reason he cannot place.

"Thank you for agreeing to accompany me. I couldn't survive going to Moneypenny's alone," he stuffs his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to say, if anything should be uttered at all.

Another long pause stills the waters of their weak conversation before her smooth voice glides through the air. "Tomorrow's the 20th," she states without elaboration.

Q furrows his eyebrows. "Indeed it is."

"I leave for Tokyo tomorrow."

"Which means?" he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head down slightly to look at her.

"Which means I'm going to do this," she announces, taking a single step forward and pecking him lightly at the corner of his mouth in an innocent manner.

Q chuckles, completely aware of the heat rising to his face yet paying the rouge no heed. "You are too much of a tease for your own good. Young and skipping others' heartbeats instead of jump rope. A nymphet making men fall like dominoes yet that's all I get." A slight smirk lifts his features, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

Amelia scoffs, a grin playing on her lips. "Fine, then. I suppose more would suffice given the circumstances," she complies, snaking her hands up to the back of his neck and capturing his mouth without force. He melts to her touch, inhaling sharply. "You don't have to be afraid to touch me," she whispers matter-of-factly against his skin, trailing taut kisses along his jaw in a superior manner that irks him to no end. Q takes the statement as an invitation. Arms grip her tighter, hands slide down the small of her back, slipping into her back pockets. Amelia pauses, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes.

"Don't say things like that, or I'll do things like _that_," he groans, but makes no effort to remove his hands as he leans down to her face, pressing his lips to hers and pulling her deliciously close; their body heat mingling in sanctuary against the crisp night air, exhaled breaths creating blurs that dance between their faces. A hand slides down his face gently, stirring something within him, resting on his chest as it softly pushes them apart.

"Maybe I'm fine with things like that," Amelia challenges flatly. "But its currently three o'clock, on my doorstep, and uncomfortably cold. I'll see you before I leave tomorrow." She drags her eyes down to his lips, eliciting a protesting whimper from the man.

"Fine, McTavish." The reply is whiney and submissive - hardly a tone he's ever used before. Q reluctantly releases his affectionate grip on her, watching her climb the final step and lean on the door, pushing it open with her meek weight. "Goodnight, Lolita," he smirks. Amelia turns her head, shooting him a grin, playfully licking her tongue out at him. "Same to you, Humbert," she giggles with a snort, her retreating form disappearing at the second flight of stairs up to her flat. The ghost of a smile is faint on his lips as he beings the task of calling a taxi cab.

Sliding into the backseat of the sleek black vehicle, he muses their parting words to himself amusedly.

_My Lolita..._

* * *

**Feel free to correct any mistakes, and as always, critique is welcome and highly craved. Also, welcome to all the recent followers! **

**- Lennon**


	11. Chapter 11

**May 24th weekend was a bust. It fucking snowed like Hell. **

**Enjoy this short chapter, my lovelies! If you see anything incorrect - whether it regard grammar, spelling, or punctuation - please tell me either in your review or a PM. I'd appreciate it. **

**This chapter is quite short, I will admit, but I've got a drama production coming up; we're going Hairspray. Wish us luck! I'll hopefully update again within the next week!**

**-Lennon**

* * *

The sky above one of the many airstrips is grey and cloudy, much like 007's cold and stoic gaze. After the early morning, awkward and short-term goodbye with Q, and 12 hour flight from Heathrow, to say Amelia was tired would be the understatement of the 21st century.

Waiting in an uncomfortable airport seat outside Gate 6B for Stallin's exclusively private jet to land is also proving to be quite the tedious task. After nearly five hours of sitting perfectly poised on a hard, taut blue seat in a restraining navy blazer, a magazine spread delicately onto her lap supported by crossed legs, Yeurig has yet to make an appearance. Behind her aviators and underneath the jeans and pressed Oxford shirt, Amelia wears blood-shot eyes and stiff muscles.

"Any sign of him, McTavish?" Tanner's voice exasperates into the Bluetooth that's hidden expertly behind her mane of wild hair.

"Oh, yes," Amelia starts sarcastically, bouncing her leg up and down. "In fact, I have Stallin tied up here right now. I just forgot to mention it." Her tone is quick and cold as she flips to the next page of Cosmo, widening her eyes at the article about sex. "Do people actually pay money for this? This is just porn and 10 different ways to wear a mini skirt," she mumbles to herself.

A faint and hoarse chuckle, recognized as Q's, is heard, but a short-lived cough quickly interrupts it. "Focus, 009. And don't get smart."

"Ooh; 009. We're getting professional now, are we, Q?" she retorts, her eyes flicking up from behind her sunglasses to land on a group of large men dressed in sharp black suits, ear pieces coiled around their ears and dipping down to tuck neatly underneath their shirts which no doubt each hold the telltale outline and almost unnoticeable bulge of a pistol that would be missed if not looked upon by a trained eye.

"I've got a visual," she states in a suddenly serious manner. "Bond, d'ya read me?" Amelia adds quickly as she stalks off, trailing behind the men as they make for the escalator.

"Tail them. Kate's behind you. I'm outside in the Aston Martin," is the operative's blunt reply.

"Oh, and I suppose that's completely inconspicuous," Amelia scoffs, the click of her boots drowned out in the tightly knit crowd of loud and chattering folks. She drags an empty suitcase behind her, keeping a few scattered people behind Stallin and his men at all times.

"They're headed for the door, Bond." Kate's authoritative voice rings through the operatives' ear pieces.

"I think we got that bit, Agent Brown," he retorts calmly. Bond never took a particular liking to Katherine. Presumably because she was easy to get into bed, shattered Q's heart entirely, and acted superior even though she was just a regular - and mediocre - field operative.

"Play nice, 007," Amelia taunts, exiting the airport with a swish of the automatic doors. She smirks, sliding into the passenger seat of the sleek silver vehicle. Kate is seen quickly after, long blonde hair flying behind her in flaxen tendrils. She gracefully slips into the vehicle behind Bond's, revving the engine obnoxiously. "Don't draw attention to yourself," Amelia states flatly as they pull out, following three cars behind the large black SUV containing Yeurig and his associates.

"009. I assume you've been briefed on the _entire_ operation." Kate's voice is noticeably irked, and it holds the telltale quality of arrogant confidence.

"Indeed I have, Brown. 007 and I are to tail them to their hotel where you will check in to monitor him, leaving us to go back to the Mandarin Oriental and prepare for the convention where Yeurig will oh-so-conveniently drop dead after a few drinks and his meal. Did I miss anything?" Amelia retorts calmly with the least amount of hostility she can muster.

A high-pitched huff is offered in return, and Amelia can't help but smirk.

* * *

"Bond, have you seen my .45?" Amelia calls, stepping out of the bathroom and holding her dress together in the back while shuffling through her bag of various weapons and the scattered clothing items.

"It's in the microwave. Here, you're going to drop that," he motions to her dress as Mimi relieves the kitchen appliance of her pistol. "Not that I would mind." His face remains placid as he sweeps her hair over her shoulder, slowly inching the zipper up.

"Bond, we can still hear you," Tanner announces, clearing his throat. "You're lucky Q's gone to find a minion to get him some tea."

Amelia scoffs, muttering something about "_Geoffrey's lazy arse_" as she adjusts the volume of the ear piece Tanner's chatting to them through yet again. "I'm sure everyone's just terrified of Q," Mimi states sarcastically, tossing Bond his ridiculous security personnel disguise.

"You've seen him without caffeine, Amelia." Tanner chuckles, his laugh being cut short by light footsteps. The former secretary clears his throat, silence suddenly filling the coms.

"Where the bloody Hell is Agent Brown?" The young Quartermaster exasperates suddenly, apparently having just returned from bullying a minion into making him a decent cup of Earl Grey. "Is she even wearing her ear piece?"

"I doubt it," Bond replies. "After Amelia shot her down-"

"I did not! She asked me a question, and I simply answered. Possibly quite sarcastically." The last bit is added quietly as Amelia hikes her dress up to tuck her gun underneath the holster strapped to her thigh.

"Q, you'd love to be here right now," Bond states flatly, eyeing Amelia through the mirror he's using to finish his disguise with wretched sunglasses.

"I will shoot you in the fucking knee," McTavish threatens, glancing up temporarily with narrowed eyes to meet 007's smirking face, pulling the tight white fabric back down her leg to rest provocatively a few good inches above her knee. She sighs. "Who's genius idea was it to dress me like prostitute?" Mimi slips on a pair of dark purple heels, the shoes elevating her height to a frank 5'8. "I'm too pale for this shit."

"Can we _please_ keep this conversation at a professional level? This is a mission, after all," Tanner sighs with an irked groan.

"007, 009, Agent Brown is back on. She will be leaving shortly. We'll send you the address." Q's voice authorative and calm, something Amelia had grown used to her first few weeks here, though it seemed to fade after a while. She hasn't heard that tone directed at her since.

"Ready, 009?" Bond winks, extending his hand. Amelia rolls her eyes, accepting the gesture and following him out the door, tucking the room key into Bond's jacket pocket with a smirk.

* * *

"There's no sign of Stallin, and I've been traipsing around the room like an idiot for the past hour." Amelia offers a small smile at one of the more persistent waiters, accepting the glass of champagne from the shiny tray.

"He likes to make an entrance. Just make sure he doesn't get too good a look at Bond." Q replies, the familiar sound of his tapping fingers acting as almost background noise. "They shouldn't recognize you. You're new. Not even listed as a field operative in the data base yet."

"Q, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but don't you think it's going to be a little hard for McTavish to blend in?" Bond questions flatly, and Amelia scans the room for him once more, her eyes stopping on the man dressed in a black suit, standing near a fire exit with hands clasped in front of him, no trace of emotion on his face.

"How so?" Geoffrey inquires.

"I am literally one of the only young Caucasian women in this place," she replies with another scan of the convention room filled with drunk businessmen and their female companions for the night. Taking a delicate and frankly bored sip of her wine, a hand taps her shoulder.

Amelia turns, raising an eyebrow at the man before her. Tall, lean, with mischievous brown eyes and shaggy orange hair. "May I help you?" she asks in a bored tone, resorting back to her cover of a French bomb expert. Half of it was true, at least. Amelia could build an explosive out of almost anything; homemade c4 was her specialty.

"It depends. Probably not." He takes a seat next to her on the white chaise lounge which is awkwardly placed at the back of the room. "A lovely woman like you wouldn't be here alone. Where's your boyfriend, doll?"

"There is no boyfriend, monsieur. I came here with my own company," she replies smoothly in her perfected French accent.

"How can that be? Are you making a deal for someone?"

"A deal for myself, monsieur," she chuckles lightly, bringing the glass to her dark lips. "This is my trade."

The carrot-haired man raises his eyebrows, a genuine smile placed on his lips. "Not many young women are familiar with the art of arms dealing. How very enticing." He stretches an arm over the back of the couch.

"That would be true," she nods once. "If I were an arms dealer."

"Might I ask what exactly your profession is, Miss...?"

"Mademoiselle Clare Dumont," she answers simply, crossing her legs. "Expert in explosives."

His grin grows wider. "Henry Miller. Pleased to meet you, Clare." He takes her hand, planting a chaste kiss on it lightly. Q's voice rings in her ear piece after a long silence of nothing on the com. The young Quartermaster says one thing only: Table 6.

"Likewise, monsieur. But, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to." She smiles warmly, delicately patting the back of his hand before standing and bouncing in her heels across the large convention room. "Bond," she starts as she sets her clutch down onto the bathroom counter, pulling out a bottle of some sort of aerosol. She taps the small container with a painted finger, slipping it back into her bag after pulling the cap off. "What seat?"

"112," he answers simply, watching the young woman stroll out of the restroom and glide casually over to a reserved table, attracting no attention. Not even catching the eye of Ginger Bastard, as Q dubbed him.

She slips the tiny bottle from her clutch, pretending to trip up and spraying the eating utensils that rest next to a gold-rimmed plate a few times as she falls. With a small and high-pitched huff, she regains her composure, standing and smoothing down her dress.

"I didn't know you were such a good actress, 009, I'll give you that." Bond smirks, slipping out the exit door he conveniently stood next to all night.

"I'm just full of surprises," Amelia responds jokingly, appearing at 007's side almost instantaneously. "Q, I thought Kate was supposed to be here. It's bloody freezing."

"Tracking her now. She's almost there." Is his quick reply. "There's also been a change of plans. You three are to leave Tokyo immediately. The next plane to Heathrow is in an hour. *Don't* miss it. Agent Brown has your bags."

Amelia grumbles something, crawling into the back of Kate's car. She turns her back to the windshield, pulling the tight dress over her head with success. Slipping into loose yoga pants and a v-neck that's a good few sizes too big after rifling through her small suitcase, she turns back to James and Kate as she tames her curls into a bun, buckling her seatbelt. Bond has apparently followed her lead and shed his horrid security guard disguise.

"We'll see how well you did on your first operation when we get back to MI6," Kate arches an eyebrow, eyeing McTavish with a penetrating gaze through the rear-view mirror.

"I guess we will."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Fluffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfl uffyfluffyfluffyfluffyfluffy.**

* * *

Amelia had fallen asleep in the back of Bond's Aston Martin before they'd even got halfway back to MI6. By now it was after one in the morning, and Q had been without sight of Amelia for three days straight.

"Its like I'm some sort of lovesick teenager," the young man exasperates, making a face as he takes a sip from his mug, being greeted by a cold and sugar-lacking mouthful of coffee.

"You'll get used to it." Bond's face is almost amused as he replies, being careful not to move too quickly as to wake the sleeping double-oh in his arms. "Though I don't see how you managed to earn yourself a stone fox. She's quite the prize." The man hardened with age grazes eyes over Amelia's form. She seemed more approachable and her face wasn't contorted into a sarcastic glare when she was in slumber. "I think I prefer sleeping McTavish over '_I will shoot you in the fucking knee_' McTavish... Certainly improves her appearance if not the threats."

"Her appearance? Who are you kidding?" He raises an eyebrow, subconsciously taking another sip of his coffee, sputtering at the accidental mouthful.

"She reminds me of some sort of elf." His chuckle is low and raspy. "An undeniable nymphet, certainly my type, yet she lacks something," he muses, setting her down onto a spot free of clutter on Q's abnormally large mahogany desk, turning to face to younger man as he slowly prepares to leave the two.

"Namely?"

"Namely promiscuousness," he calls over his shoulder with a smirk in his voice as he struts down the long corridor of minion's desks that have been abandoned long hours ago, his low chuckle echoing in his wake after the glass door slides shut with a noise that can only be described as futuristic.

Q lets out a long and exasperated sigh, his hazel eyes trailing down to Amelia in her state of slumber on his desk. With a roll of the eyes, he chuckles once softly and turns to the other desk parallel to her current bed, cracking his knuckles before sliding fingers over the keys with prescission to occupy himself.

"Discussing my sexual tendencies while I'm _sleeping_ three feet away wouldn't be the smartest move on either of your parts."

Q jumps slightly, whipping around to face the young woman with a hysterical grin breaking out onto her face. Olive-coloured eyes widened slightly, he arches an eyebrow. "Were you literally just pretending to be asleep in order to listen to our conversation, you nosy little twat?"

"No," she chirps matter-of-factly, eyes alight with teasing yet heavy with sleep deprivation. "I woke up in Bond's car; just too lazy to get up and walk."

"Jesus Christ," he rolls his eyes, turning back to the beloved laptop screen.

"No formal greeting? Not even a hello? I'm rather disappointed, Geoffrey," she taunts childishly.

"And _I'm _rather busy, Amelia," he quips back swiftly, fingers flying expertly over the keys. In reality all he had to do was repair a few minor holes in the security system; nothing major.

"Do you honestly think I give a damn?"

"Do you honestly think I _don't_? Quartermaster isn't an easy title to live up to, especially when I'm younger than nearly everyone here," he grumbles, keeping his oculars glued to the bright screen in front of him that illuminates the dark and cold main office of Q Branch.

She furrows her eyebrows in frustration, folding her arms. Mimi huffs silently, ducking underneath Q's arm quickly and successfully blocking his view of his precious laptop.

"Don't be a child," he scoffs, glowering down at her.

"Last time I checked, I _was _a child, Q. You've been constantly reminded me of the age different in our... _Whatever the fuck we are to each other_," she quips back, rising up onto her tip toes, tilting her chin up to meet face with the young man.

"Whatever the fuck we are to each other," he mimics with a scoff to himself, his tone hateful to conceal the slightest prick of pain he feels at her statement.

"Its not like we're in a relationship." Mimi's voice is plain and cynical, as if she were completely unaffected. That, of course, would be a small fib. "More like... very physical friends..."

Geoffrey rolls his eyes, laughing loud and sarcastic, being the exact opposite of his normally calm and composed self. She inarguably drew a destructive side out of him. One that should always be kept hidden. "Friends, Amelia? Friends?! You'd describe my ridiculous devotion and completely absurd attraction to you friendship?"

"You're being dramatic!" she yells back, tone perhaps a tad too haut. "We don't fucking love each other, Q!" A pair of eyes narrowed into slits follow.

"Don't... Call me _Q_..." he sighs exasperatedly, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. Removing the spectacles, he tosses them carelessly onto the desk behind Amelia. "McTavish," he starts, voice lowering a good few notches into something deeper and much more brooding than usual, "all I'm asking," pressing so close to her that she backs into the desk, "is _this_ friendship?"

Before an answer is even on the verge of being spoken, he cranes his neck down to match her 5'7 frame, capturing her lips which are puckered in mid-speech. Geoffrey's hands find their way to her shoulders, raising tentatively up to cup her cheek. Her words are lost in a mutter of sorts against his mouth, eyes wide in surprise.

"You're so awkward when its least convenient," he mumbles, smiling against her lips at every turn of the head, tracing his thumb across her chin.

She slaps him lightly on the arm, grumbling something along the lines of "shut the fuck up", and her hands quickly find their way to his collar, curling into tight fists.

"Answer the question," he persists as he pulls away, inhaling sharply. Q can't help but contain the small smirk that rises on his lips at her obviously burning cheeks. He snakes a hand around the back of her neck, trailing finers across her pale skin.

"Make me, bastard," she answers simply, releasing her hold on him and smoothing down the wrinkled neck of his shirt.

"We both know I can't make you do anything." He places a chaste kiss on her cheek as she reaches down for his glasses, gently placing them back on the bridge of his nose without breaking eye contact; a skill that has proven to be useful in her new line of work.

"Q," she sighs, "I'm tired, and I'm hungry, not to mention I have three weeks worth of Supernatural to catch up on. Its late."

"It is late indeed..." he repeats, his hand falling limply down to collect her own. "It is also a Friday night..."

"Which means?" she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"Which means you're coming home with me, and I'll suffer through your idiotic fictional television shows."

She pauses, tilting her head to the side. "Will there be Chinese take-away?"

He quirks a smile. "When is there not?"

"Deal."

* * *

"What the hell did I just watch..." Q's mouth hangs open slightly, raising his eyebrows.

Amelia rolls her eyes, twirling a noodle onto her fork and curling her feet underneath her. "Genius."

"That was not genius. That was death by paranormal asphyxiation."

"Are you trying to be poetic?" she snickers, bringing a bottle of beer to her lips. "Mmm! I have a question for you!" she flails her hands around. "I need you to be my date for something."

An amused look crosses his face. "Are you drunk? Or are you legitimately asking me out?"

"Little bitta both," she giggles; a noise completely out of character if not for the fact that she was intoxicated. "Anyways," she drawls, drowning the word out, "one of my friend's from home is getting married in Athens and I don't want to be the same as the last time I saw them; a 19-year-old borderline alcoholic whose social life consists of presenting speeches for her Philosophy class. If I have a date they'll think I've actually been doing something other than studying."

"Athens? As in plane trip?" he pokes at the rapidly cooling Chinese food with a fork.

"Its a three and a half hour flight from Heathrow." She bites her lip, toying with the pair of chopsticks between her nimble fingers.

He sighs, setting his plate onto the coffee table in front of them. "I don't know. You know I'm terrified of flying."

"Oh, _pleeeease_!" she pouts. "Come on, Geoffrey. Greek weddings are the shit. Please, please, please!"

"Amelia..." he groans, running a hand through his hair.

She huffs, scooching over to where he lays sprawled on the couch, and crawls onto his lap with batting eyelashes. She drapes an arm loosely around his neck, manipulatively tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. "Did you know there are a hundred times more nerve endings in your lips than there are in your fingertips..." Her tone is casual and innocent.

Q gulps, eyeing her which brings a small smirk to her face. "Are there, now? Interesting..." He leans forward, playing with the hem of her shirt. "What do you say we test that fact?"

"Easy there, clever boy. That was a very good line, I'll admit, but you're not getting any form of a reward until you agree to come with me. I'll hold your hand during the flight if you want; maybe even let you hyperventilate on my shoulder," she teases with an arrogant simper, sitting up a little straighter.

He pauses for a moment, almost slipping a smile at the way she looks perched in his lap. Like he was Santa Claus and she was an eager young thing.

Half of it was true.

Sighing reluctantly, he gives a neutral reply. "When is it?"

"Success!" she squeals in delight, hugging him tightly which earns a chuckle from the man. "January 27th."

Q widens his eyes. "That's in four bloody days! What am I even going to tell M? _Oh, sorry, I'd love to come to work seeing as I'm our fucking Quartermaster, but I have to spontaneously fly to Greece to go to the wedding of a complete stranger with 009?!_"

She rolls her eyes, slapping him upside the head. "Don't be dramatic. I'm taking a temporary family crisis leave. No one's going to know."

A long silence follows, Q wearing his adorable thinking face. "Fine," he complies after what seems like an eternity.

"Thank you!" Amelia squeals, leaning forward quickly to place a short and sweet kiss on his lips.

"You're very welcome," he smirks. "Are you planning on moving anytime soon? Perhaps off of me?"

"Nope," she answers simply, leaning back against his chest. "You're more comfortable than this pavement you call a couch." A yawn escapes her as she fast forwards to the next episode of Supernatural.

"Yes, have fun squashing my internal organs."

"I certainly will, Geoffrey."

_Note to self: never agree to watch her idiotic TV shows again._

* * *

**Hello again. I realize that most of you are probably getting bored with this right about now, or maybe you have been for quite some time, but I'd just like to say that I have ****_many _****things planned for this story. I shall not give you any details, but let's just say in the next four chapters...**

**Shit's**

**Gonna**

**Go**

**DOWN. **

**P.S. Excuse the short chapter; its exam week starting on Monday xoxo lovelies.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Excuse me for being an assbutt and not updating. Exams are over, and I don't have to attend school until Thursday for our closing assembly. Praise Satan. Anyways, feedback would be appreciated. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)**

**Also, thanks to Pellbell for being a sweetie. Meep.**

**If anyone has trouble envisioning Martha, just Google Lara Pulver, unless you already know she's Irene Adler from Sherlock :***

**I should really shut up now.**

* * *

"Did you just try to justify dragging me around to the shops for four hours straight by telling me I needed a new bikini?" Amelia narrows her eyes, the abundance of Martha's bags weighing down on her petite frame.

"Precisely!" the raven-haired woman replies in a honey-sweet tone as she pays for two teas from a roadside cafe. Seating herself in a chair underneath the shelter of a large overhead umbrella, Mimi quickly follows her over from the lineup and plops herself down gratefully with a huff, dropping the bags carelessly to her feet.

"Careful with those!" Martha scolds lightly, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at the young woman.

"Oh, sorry. Wouldn't want to break your lingerie," she quips back, the both of them knowing she wasn't being hurtful. Martha scoffs, failing to contain the smirk that squirms onto her precisely painted red lips. Mimi quickly returns the expression, the both of them breaking into a fit of snickers before better composing themselves.

"So," Martha starts, sipping on her Orange Pekoe, "who's wedding are you going to, again?" The woman taps her long and slender fingers on the tabletop absentmindedly.

"His name's Stefan. We used to be joined at the hip 'fore I moved to France. When mum got a job in Cardiff we lost touch; I'm surprised he even knew where to find me, we've fucking relocated so many times." She uncoils her scarf from around her neck, tucking it into the only small shopping bag that contains her few purchased items. Where Martha got the money to buy all these extravagant clothes, Amelia didn't want to know.

"Ah," she nods, "I forgot you were Greek. Then again, with a face like that you'd expect to be stopped at immigration."

Mimi narrows her eyes sarcastically. "Thanks a lot, Marty."

"I _meant _you look foreign. Don't get your nerdy undies in a twist." Her teasing grin is enough to lessen the intensity of Amelia's scowl. "Anyways, will you be traveling alone? I s'pose you're dragging poor Nolan along with you."

"No, he wanted to stay with his family until classes start again. The bugger's still in Brighton."

"Real impressionable showing up at a wedding without a date, don't you think?" she arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her half-smirk remaining in tact. "You haven't seen this man - or most of your family, for that matter - in years. I think they'd rather if you weren't still some little genius wasting her life away by drowning herself in biochemical terminology and strong liquor."

Mimi brings the cup to her lips, taking a grateful sip before answering. "As a matter of fact, I _do_ have... Well, _somewhat_ of a date." She strokes the side of her cup with fingerless-gloved digits.

"Ah, who is the lucky fellow you've manipulated?"

"Q," Amelia answers plainly, though it looks as if she's about to burst into laughter.

Martha lets out a dramatic and much-needed, "Ha!" Wiping a tear from her skillfully made-up eyes that give her oculars that of a feline, she returns her pond blue gaze back to Amelia. "You've got him wrapped around your little finger! I've taught you well, young Jedi."

"Well, I did indeed learn from the best, Master Yoda."

"Calling me Yoda is where I draw the line, Freckle," Martha chuckles, pulling her pea coat tighter across her chest at the sudden gust of soft wind. "Anyways, let's stray from the art of seduction for a moment and discuss this wedding of sorts. You a bridesmaid?" She lazily sloshes the hot liquid around in her cup, rotating it in a circular motion betwixt her fingers.

"Martha, I'm hardly a _guest _for God's sake. I haven't seen Stefan since my fourteenth birthday. _Let's go back to Greece for the holidays, _she said. _It'll be exquisite!_ she said." Amelia lets out a snort.

"Let's hope its much more _exciting _this time," Martha winks suggestively.

"You're mad," Amelia scoffs, rolling her eyes as she collects her only bag - containing solely swimming costumes. "I'll see you in four days, bitch!" Mimi calls over her shoulder with a jovial grin.

* * *

Singing loudly and without any fucks to herself, a seemingly endless playlist of well-known French songs flowing from Amelia's docking station, she packs clothing neatly and almost obsessively tight into her relatively small suitcase. The flat had been lacking any living creatures for a week until McTavish's return the previous day. It had gotten considerably colder and, for once, Amelia was thankful for going to Greece to meet up with family; at least she wouldn't be freezing to death any longer. She sighs agitatedly, pulling the thick wool fabric of the shapeless grey sweater closer to her small and shivering frame before continuing with the tedious task of trying to figure out which of her minuscule amount of existing clothing items would be suitable for the weather there, not to mention having to find a dress somewhere in the depths of her cupboard; the small space filled with boxes containing photographs of random strangers in the street, books upon books of various tastes, and even the scattered high heel that's missing its partner. Her phone buzzes once curtly from across her small bedroom, and she pokes her head out from underneath her high-rise bed, having been in search of a pair of underwear without childish rainbows or mirthful cartoon bears scattered on them. Quite literally launching herself across the room to where her phone lay resting on the course-fibered rug that covers her floor, she rolls onto her back, unlocking the device. A smile unintentionally squirms onto her face at the message, or more likely, its sender.

_I've been knocking on your door for six minutes straight. Let me in. What the hell are you doing in there?_

_**Giving birth. What the fuck do you think I'm doing, smartarse? Hold on.**_

She chuckles once, quickly hitting 'send' before climbing to her feet and skipping across the apartment to the door, opening it with a placid face.

"Giving birth to who? Edith Piaf?" Q asks sarcastically with raised eyebrows, hinting at her song choice that's currently interrogating his ears.

"Don't dis _La Vie en Rose_," she cries over her shoulder, pointing an accusing finger at him as she crosses the flat back into her room. Q closes the door behind him, bag in tow, and follows without invitation, hanging in the doorframe and watching her with hands in his pockets. His eyes wander over her small bedroom, a smirk rising onto his face at the sight that's so typical he wonders why he hadn't expected it to look like this. Clothes are strewn across most everything and textbooks and crumpled sheets of paper litter the floor which is almost completely covered in various exotic rugs.

"Gifts from my mum. She gets me a new one every time she goes somewhere different," Amelia answers in explanation without looking up from tucking a men's shirt into her case.

Geoffrey continues to study the nymphet's bedroom, raking oculars over the opened cupboard that's filled to the brim with boxes piled at towering heights. He steps over in two strides, tipping one down to peer inside. "Who are all these people?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at the box containing nothing but an old camera and photos of strangers. _Lots _of photos of strangers, actually.

Amelia looks up, shaking her head lightly and averting her eyes back down to the task at hand, fiddling with the strings of a bathing suit with a sheepish grin. "I went through a photography phase, alright? When I was sixteen I had an unhealthy obsession with my Polaroid and I used to go out and take pictures of strangers; any person I found beautiful, y'know," she shrugs.

He picks up the camera, toying with it in his hands. "Does this have film?" Q asks.

Amelia nods distractedly, her mind on deciding which books to pack, studying the copies of _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? _and _Fahrenheit 451 _she holds betwixt nimble fingers. She flicks her eyes up instantaneously to Q with raised eyebrows at a familiar click."What are you doing?"

"Taking pictures of a person I find beautiful," he smirks, snapping another instant photo of the young woman. The freckled girl huffs with an incredulous scowl that she's failing to suppress, tossing both books carelessly into her bag before arming herself with a pillow to throw at him. "Geoffrey, stop that! You're wasting my film!" she scoffs as he proceeds to take another picture.

"I thought you said you used it to take photos of beautiful people. That's exactly what I'm doing," he teases, a grin the size of Texas gracing his normally calculating features. Amelia hurls a pillow at him and the charming man ducks just in time, but inevitably trips up on a guitar case, landing on his backside with a few curses.

"Karma!" She licks her tongue out at him, striding across the tiny room and bending down to relieve him of the camera and few pictures he managed to snap. She shakes her head with an infamous eye-roll, curls bouncing in all directions as she sifts through the minuscule amount of photos in her hands. In truth, they weren't even that bad. "These would almost be mediocre if my face were replaced with someone attractive," she chuckles, turning on her heel to return everything to its rightful box.

Q's face falls and he reaches a hand up to snatch hers, pulling her down onto his lap quite suddenly, eliciting a surprised _oof! _from the startled girl. "Why do you loathe yourself so much?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed in questioning as he traces his thumb absently across her hand in his.

She sighs, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. "I'm too pale, I have too many freckles, I've got no chest, I barely have hips, my eyes are too round, neck too long, I have a freakishly small nose, my lips are thin, my chin is pointy, and my weight is constantly being commented on. Need I go on? Ballet during your teenage years also doesn't contribute to high self-esteem, either, Geoffrey." Amelia arches an eyebrow, wondering why he's asking this now.

He sighs, cocking his head to the side. "I didn't know you danced. See, there's so _much _I wish to know about you. Tell me about Yypatia."

I changed my name - _legally_, too, thank you very fucking much." She remains perched straight as a pin, tensed in his arms. "What is there that you don't already know? You've read my file. Plus, in case you haven't noticed, we have a plane to be on in about four hours."

"Our flight can wait until we're finished playing 20 Questions," he states plainly with no hint of any room for negotiation in his voice. "Now, what's your favourite film?"

"_Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back_ or _Remember Me_. Don't say shit about that; Robert Pattinson is fucking gorgeous," she defends.

"Fair enough." Q sports a sly smirk paired with slightly narrowed, mischievous hazel eyes. "Favourite book?"

"Damn you for making me choose," she curses. "Either _Animal Farm_, _Perfume: The Story of a Murderer_, or _The Divine Comedy_," Amelia finally settles after far too much thought.

"Your favourite band or singer. From _this century_, mind you," he pokes her stomach teasingly.

"The Tallest Man on Earth, Panic! At the Disco, Bon Iver, Yellow Ostrich, and I admit I like Lana Del Rey. Don't tell anyone that," she bites her labium. Q's eyes trail down to her lips and he unintentionality raises an eyebrow.

"You're distracting me," she narrows her eyes, slipping her hand from his grasp.

"How am _I_ distracting _you_?" Q arches a brow in question, his eyes not leaving her lips.

"You're being seductive," she folds her arms defiantly, as if making a barrier between them despite the whole literally being seated in his lap thing.

"Not the first time I've heard that," he toys with the neckline of her shirt, slyly inching forward with wandering eyes.

"Prideful bastard," she smirks, closing the distance between them, coiling arms loosely around his neck. He grins in triumph against her tantalizing lips, falling back gently onto the floor; inevitably covered with yet another mismatched rug. Geoffrey snakes an arm around her back, picking up the discarded Polaroid and cheekily snapping a photo of the two. Amelia rolls her eyes internally, breaking away and looking down at him with a grin, her hair tickling his neck. "You're an idiot, and I need to pack," she states with the same amused simper, rolling off of him.

Geoffrey props himself up on his elbows, extracting the recent picture from the camera. Amelia smirks, playfully glaring at him from across the room and she tucks a dress she hopes'll be suitable to wear to a wedding in her bag. "Keep wasting my film and I won't let you cry on my shoulder during the flight."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm such a terrible person. I really have no excuse for why this hasn't been updated sooner. I'm just really a lazy bugger. Anyways, little tidbits here, I imagine Simon Van Meervenne as Marko and Idina Menzel as Amelia's mother, along with Amber Heard for Mona. Sorry, I really just watch too much TV. I can't **_**not **_**have a cast for this. **

**NOTICE: This chapter and the next will be fillers with little to no exciting things happening other than a possible mother-daughter moment and the obvious witty arguments between Q and Amelia. I'm just going to attempt to build their relationship, even though I really don't want them to get too serious and all lovey-dovey and shit.**

**I'M SHAKING WITH ANTICIPATION FOR THE CONFLICT I HAVE PLANNED**

**I AM SO EVIL**

**Ahem. Now that that's all out of my system, read on, my lovely little Lolitas. **

* * *

"If we crash and I die its on your conscience!" Geoffrey hisses under his breath, failing at his attempt of trying to direct the least bit of attention to him as possible. His knuckles white from clutching the arm rests and mouth pressed into a thin line, his tensed appearance can't help but bring a small smirk to Amelia's face despite the feet resting arrogantly on the rear of her seat. Geoffrey arches an eyebrow, taking note of how with each kick and chuckle coming from the bloke and his mate behind them Mimi's eyes narrow further and she augments the volume of her headphones. With another jolt to her backside, she whips around, pulling the earphones out.

"Nice legs," she smiles, her lips quickly flattening and a homicidal glare clouding her dark eyes. "What time do they _get the fuck off the back of my chair_?" Mimi's words come out in the form of a hiss.

The two men - clearly frat boys, no more than her ripe age - exchange amused glances, their chuckling hearty before directing lazy attention back to Amelia who's eyebrows are raised in expectancy across her unamused scowl.

The culprit rests elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "Depends on what time yours open, love. It'd be a real shame for them to go to waste on Four Eyes over there," he raises eyebrows with a confident smirk, arrogant gaze flicking over to Q who's indeed pretending not to listen.

"You've got quite the big mouth. I bet you can fit a lot of cock in there." She makes her smile as genuine as possible, watching in hidden triumph as he curses profanities at her under his breath.

"There are children on the plane, Amelia," Q raises an eyebrow at her. Mimi takes a final poke at the bear, licking her tongue out at the disgruntled bother childishly before turning back around and slumping into her seat with a huff, curling legs up onto the chair. Taking a final glance out the window, she pulls the blind closed to the nearly pitch-black sky, returning to her laptop and hitting the un-pause button, leaning back to hopefully finish _The Breakfast Club_.

* * *

"Yypatia, i kopela mou!" a rather masculine voice calls out, causing Amelia's dark eyes to dart around the empty parking lot in confusion. A swift turn of the head and she captures the startling green gaze of one Marko Laimos. "E! Ilithios!" Amelia calls in a smug voice, rolling her eyes with a large grin and abandoning Q's side to run in her childhood best friend's direction, inevitably being scooped up and spun around in the man's arms. Geoffrey promptly averts his eyes, folding arms and crunching the sand dusted loosely across the pavement beneath his shoe, making a feverish attempt to block out the friendly, joyful chatter coming from the pair ahead.

"So _you're _the poor bastard Amelia roped into coming here?" A cheery voice announces, startling him and causing the young man to spin around. He faces a tanned woman, with olive skin and light green eyes, pointed features and high, hollow cheeks that have no doubt been inherited by the object of his affection. A lively smile is etched onto her face, and Q reckons she performs the facial expression quite frequently due to the faint wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth.

"Yes," the young man finally chuckles in reply. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming you're her mother? If not then this family has an uncanny resemblance toward one another," he smiles easily, politely extending a hand.

"Yeah, I'm Evangeline. And don't be daft! I'm givin' you a hug!" the mirthful woman declares, dismissing his offering of a handshake and pulling him down to her short level of five foot four, patting him on the back with eagerness. He raises his eyebrows, quickly fixing his glasses as she pulls away, though he offers a good-natured smile.

"Uh, mum. Don't scare him away with your usual overdose of unnecessary affection and positivity. It took enough persuasion to get him here," Amelia's voice announces from behind Q, and almost instantaneously her thin arms are draped loosely around his neck. The small gesture is more than enough to bring a faint, quickly dispersing smile to the young man's face, yet he doesn't withdraw his hand; fingers tracing hers softly. "It's nice to see you too, my precious daughter," Evangeline quips back, and it's no secret who Amelia got her sarcasm from. "Come here, prigkipissa," the woman announces, and the two carbon copies of each other are quickly locked in a tight embrace. Ruffling McTavish's mess of curls to an even wilder state, the young woman scrunches her nose and quickly withdraws, stepping back to Q's side subconsciously.

The trio's almost immediately joined by this Marko fellow, along with his unnamed, well-endowed fiancée. "Oh, fuck; introductions. Right. Marko, this is Geoffrey. Geoffrey, this is Mona," she points a slender finger toward the short, blonde woman whom is currently glued to the hip of her model-material husband-to-be. "Mona, this is me," she juts a thumb toward herself teasingly, and after all other acquaintances have been made and introductions acquired, the group finally disperse into their respective vehicles, set on meeting back up at the ferry meant to take them from Athens to the lovely little island of Aegina, where Marko's family's summer home currently resides.

Along with all of his bloody relatives.

* * *

"Ah! Yypatia! We have missed you dearly, beauty girl!" More loving and shockingly tight embraces from whom are correctly assumed to be Marko's parents are quickly exchanged with the lithe girl, though apologies quickly follow them on their way out the door. "Now, we've got to zip back to Athens for the rest of the day to straighten out the caterer's accommodations and all of that business, but all of us seniors will be back tomorrow at around noon. Marko, try not to be burning the house down, yes?" A few hearty laughs and heavy chuckles echo through the large house before Evangeline places a quick kiss on her daughter's cheek, yelling something foreign to the group made up of Marko's parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, before she skips ahead to catch up with them.

"I see your family is still as... _affectionate _as ever," Amelia chuckles, adjusting her duffel bag that's obviously weighing down her tiny frame that seems to have deteriorated since Tokyo.

"Oh, definitely," he replies with a laugh, sliding an arm around Mona's waist and stuffing a hand into his pocket. "I wanted to show Mona those cliffs we used to play on. You guys okay here for a few hours? I'm sure you remember where your room is, Yypatia," Marko winks, sending a dismissive and amused wave over his shoulder as Amelia agitatedly yells after him about her name being changed, and that he'll never be able to have children if he calls her Yypatia one more time.

"You're just a bundle of anger issues and sociopathic tendencies squeezed into an skinny little arse and wrapped in shorts just a wee bit too tight, huh?" Q smirks, giving her a calculating elevator glance. "You've lost two inches on your waist," he notes plainly with his usual placid expression replacing the boyish grin, earning an eye roll and sarasctic gratitude in return.

Geoffrey follows Amelia down the large, open hallways which all seem to have a gorgeous view of the beach in front of them courtesy of nearly every wall being just glass. With perpetually white walls and decadent oak flooring, the young cyber-Sherlock wonders how many goddamn maids they have here in order the keep everything as spotless as it is.

"Just to let you know, we're sleeping together, but not _sleeping_ together," Amelia calls over her shoulder as she swings open the grand French doors that reveal a large bedroom behind them. The thinning girl steps in as if she's been here a million times, which she probably has. Dropping her duffel bag and carry-on without order onto a maroon rug at the side of the bed, she hops up and plops exasperatedly onto the mattress with a huff, sinking into the ivory goose-down duvet.

Q raises an eyebrow, looking at her from over his glasses as he takes his laptop from his obscenely neat bag where he placed it tidily on the table at the foot of the bed.

"What are you doing? What'd you need your laptop for?" she quizzes with furrowed eyebrows, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Changing my password," he mumbles, being purposely vague. He quickly keys in the numbers _32 20 34_ with a small smirk, making a mental note to do this every time her measurements change.

"What the hell are you grinning at?" Amelia raises an eyebrow, crawling across the mile long stretch of bed to peer over his shoulder. Geoffrey quickly snaps the screen shut, turning back to her with a plain face. "Nothing you need to be concerned about," the man answers flatly, tucking the portable computer back into his bag. Amelia scoffs, rolling her eyes yet again as she rolls somewhat ungracefully off the high mattress, landing softly on her feet. Dragging her bag into the ensuite, she emerges from behind the frosted glass door moments later murmuring an unsettling eerie version of _You Are My Sunshine _under her breath, hooking together the straps of a black, halter bikini top fitting tightly to her frame. Q raises an eyebrow, raking oculars over her swimming costume clad form before sighing deeply, removing his glasses and looking at her with a pained expression. "How much do you weigh now?" he exhales in worry with his bold question. The girl has yet to become overly bony and unhealthy-looking, though that's the track she's on. Despite her current undeniably perfect Hepburn figure, Geoffrey realizes that's not how body image issues work. They don't just cease.

"103," Amelia answers quietly in a firm voice, her tone obviously hinting that he should bugger off and drop the subject. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she grabs a t shirt from her bag, her motions being ceased by a broad hand latching onto her wrist gently. He wraps arms around her abdomen, ducking his head down to the crook of her neck, pressing his lips softly to her freckled skin. "Guess what," he mumbles in a tender, muffled voice, trailing feather light kisses down to her shoulder.

"What?" Amelia manages to keep her voice from quivering, sighing heavily and feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"You're lovely when you blush," he smirks against her neck, acknowledging the fact that his comment's only fueling the colour on her face, making it augment in intensity.

"Idjit," she murmurs with hushed breath, leaning her head back against his chest with fluttering eyelids, pressing her lips together.

"Weren't you going out to the pool, or something? Or were you just purposely prancing around in that to tease me?" Geoffrey chuckles lightly, a deeper sound emitting from him than Amelia's used to as he snakes a hand slowly down to her thigh, tracing an invisible pattern on her leg.

"I was _going _to go read outside, but it looks like you've foiled my plans you distracting bugger."

"I have lips... You have lips... Interesting..." he retorts, completely dismissing her mild blow and taking amusement in the fact her skin is now goosebumped. "Fine, I'll let you go," he slips a wicked smirk, twirling her around quickly to place a firm kiss on her lips, eliciting a startled squeak from the girl. He pulls away, looking down at her with a stoic expression. "Now go see if androids do dream of electric sheep."

* * *

**I personally wrote all the Greek in in Greeklish, because I don't trust Google translate. Please feel free to correct my mistakes. **

**I kopela mou: My girl**

**E! Ilithios: Hey! Idiot!**

**Prigkipassa: Princess **


	15. Chapter 15

**Jesus H Christ, we're really getting close to the action, huh? This is the last chapter until shit goes down. Prepare for suspense next update. Lalalala, I crave feedback, my lovelies. **

**I also have a link for Amelia's dress, in case anyone cares, which I will _attempt _to link here, because I don't wish to deal with curious PMs about it. Bear with me - ** i01.*wsphoto/v0/551742263/Free-Shipping-Wholesale- Korea-women-Dress-Fashion-Dress-New-Fashion-2012-D ress-women-Dresses-Lovely-Dress.*jpg **(remove the *'s and add the usual http and all that jazz at the beginning. I'm lazy and this crap hardly ever works for me.)**

**It's 5:05am. Please deal with my fluff until next chapter ^-^**

**OH YES RIGHT I ALMOST FORGOT**

**POSSIBLE FORESHADOWING?**

**KEEP AN EYE OUT, SHITBRAINS. **

**XOXO I LOVE ALL OF YOU 3 **

* * *

_I walk in circles on my open terrace, _

_Over the warm terracotta -bare foot. _

_The night is tepid- winds of furnace; _

_Summer night – Even the birds are mute. _

_No sign of rain –the air is dry; _

_I look up – a cloudless sky. _

_With no where to hide-the moon is high; _

_The only riot – the bats that fly. _

_The mosquitoes menacingly encircle me _

_Even as the crickets and lizards chant _

_The town is dark as far as I could see I_

_Powerless, sleepless- the endless rant…_

A pen grasped between nimble fingers scribbles in that same faint noise, a bother to most yet frankly intoxicating to the pale creature slumped on the floor against the refrigerator door hanging agape like an awestruck child at the entrance of an amusement park. To the eye of the man woken from his slumber just moments before, she looks like some sort of fallen angel, startling milky skin illuminated by the silver lining of the light emitting from the kitchen appliance. A humorous notion, he concludes, especially considering two empty bottles of beer rest next to her and a half-eaten pudding cup in her hand, the occasional stab being taken at it.

"Why on Earth are you awake at this hour, eating bloody chocolate pudding while sitting on the floor next to the goddamn refrigerator?" Q inquires with heavy eyelids, making no effort to move from his position leaning in the doorway of the large, pristine kitchen.

"Why on Earth are _you _in only your underwear and that stupid tee shirt?" she quips back with a straight face, raising an eyebrow at her notepad as she begins to doodle a pattern next to her recently-written poem. A recently, and _badly_-written poem in her eyes, to be exact. In truth, it certainly wasn't one of her best works by a long shot.

"I could say the same for you," the man returns quickly, nodding his head at her form covered in only a men's shirt that no doubt looks to reach well past her thighs, remaining placid-faced yet internally laughing at their banter. He always felt most confident near her when they were in some sort of idiotic, witty argument. He drags himself over to where she lay against the appliance door, sliding down with a huff next to her. He eyes the childish dessert in her hand, raising an eyebrow before curling his fingers, holding out an expectant hand towards the curly-haired young specimen. "Give it here."

Amelia furrows her eyebrows with an incredulous expression, holding the pudding cup out of his reach. "Uh, fuck off," she chuckles, licking the spoon clean with a taunting smirk, raising teasing eyebrows in arrogance.

"Guess we'll have to do this the fun way," he sighs, turning back to her with a wicked grin and sly, fern green eyes.

"What fun way?" Amelia inquires as she turns around to face him, and not a second later is a kiss placed at the corner of her mouth, the squeak-inducing yet vaguely familiar sense of his tongue tracing lightly across her lip bringing the unavoidable blush to taint her cheeks. She quickly slaps his arm, the man withdrawing with an immature chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly in a manner that's hard to glare at. "What was that?" she asks meekly, what started out as a firm, fiery question fizzling out into soft, billowing smoke at a drastic pace.

"You had chocolate on your mouth," he defends, wide smile loosening until all that remains is a small frown, his confidence diminishing into his usual timid aura of uncertainty when it comes to women. Especially this particular young woman.

Mimi rolls her eyes, digging the spoon back down into the cup and raising the utensil swiftly, gracing his cheek with a smudge of the treat, licking her tongue out at him impishly with a growing smirk.

"Excuse you." He pokes her in the side, making a face and wrapping an arm around her tiny waist, lifting her with ease onto his lap, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky smile. In turn she again rolled her eyes, scoffing lightly and licking her thumb, taking a light grasp on his defined jaw as she swipes away the mess she made of his cheek.

"Why'd you wake up?"

"Sleeping in a bed lacking your beauty has proven to be quite unpleasant," Q answers seriously, clearly retracting back into his normally unintentionally charming yet blunt and stoic persona. "Why were _you _awake in the first place?" he questions back at her, taking her hand and playing with her fingers absentmindedly.

"I can never seem to fall asleep," she shrugged. "Only then when I do 'tis the result of countless ASMR videos, inevitably resolving back to just listening to the Lolita soundtrack in its entirety until I finally manage a maximum of five hours."

"Well that sounds healthy," he comments sarcastically. "Especially tonight, considering you're supposed to be attending a wedding tomorrow."

"Don't get all condescending with me, you little tit. You're attending as well, and _you're _just as awake as I," she raises an eyebrow, leaning back on Geoffrey's chest.

"The dark circles under your eyes would beg to differ, love."

* * *

The reception hall is decorated in an understated manner, as per Marko's requests - quite interchangeable with pleas, though the lavish dining hall doesn't do much to help his cause and dreams of something low-key. With lighting now dank, the clattering of plates being eliminated due to the waiters wheeling half-eaten dinners away, noise is quickly replenished with the pattering feet and antsy squeals of eager children.

Amelia had made a deal with Marko prior to attendance; insisting that she DJ the whole affair. This way, she'd be able to actually play tolerable music, and not have to dance. It was a one-sided, win-win situation. Tapping her ballet flat against the floor, she sits, perched pointedly on a stool with a leg extended in front of her. In truth, the whole setup isn't too shabby: her own miniature stage, or podium of the sort, tucked away at the back of the dining hall with a full view of the amusing drunken dancers and adorable young children. All she has to do is hit play.

The crowd clearly grows excited as an all-too-familiar tune of AC/DC's _You Shook Me All Night Long _begins to play, the quality speaker system making Amelia pleasantly surprised, a half-smirk seemingly perpetually plastered onto her normally downturned, pouted lips as she strides barefoot across the room, avoiding wild, over-excited dancers and hanging back against the wall for the most part, leaving her shoes behind which had been abandoned as soon as possible. She takes a seat at the bar, tapping her fingers lightly against the counter after requesting some sort of concoction containing Ouzo, which she admittedly favored over most alcoholic beverages, coming in at a close second to her prized booze.

"Why is it that wherever you are it always seems to be your main goal to get plastered? Actually, can you even get drunk anymore? Is that even possible?" Q's voice, rising in audacity in order to be audible above the obnoxiously loud music, is hushed into her ear as she sips on the mixture casually, leaning back on the counter, supporting herself with an elbow as she regards him out of the corner of her eye, raising an eyebrow.

"You're funny," she drawls sarcastically, poking him squarely in the chest. With folded arms, leant against the bar with crossed legs and regarding her smolderingly, add in Mimi's age and youthful essence and you've got the perfect formula for a Young Adult novel.

"So I have not been told," he replies calmly, eyes flicking around the room and no doubt scanning everyone's face for a threat. Despite not having field agent training, her certainly behaved as one would in a social setting, especially when in the presence of an abundance of unknown beings. "You going to dance, or what?" he asks finally after a long and comfortable silence of the calculating, intelligent pair eyeing everyone with subtle suspiciousness.

"Like hell."

"Oh, come on," he wraps an arm around her loosely in a casual manner, raising a finger to point out a young boy at a table of other adolescents sporting wicked grins, almost definitely at his expense. "Stereotypical high school geek over there's been stealing glances at you helplessly since _Goodbye My Lover _has started playing. If you don't go over there and ask the poor bloke to dance I just might have to, but I think we can both concur on who's waist he'd rather have his hands on." He pulls away, eyeing her with a grin spreading onto his face.

"Look at that. You've got a heart." She places a hands over her chest mockingly with a sly smile, flicking eyes back over to the previously mentioned boy. "How old d'ya figure he is? 15?"

"It'd be my best guess," Q nods in agreement, sliding a hand down to her lower back and pushing her gently off the seat, cocking his head towards the kid. "Go," he chuckles, earning a scoff, to which he mockingly blows a kiss at her. A faint smile seems etched permanently onto his face as he watches her stride casually over to the teen's table, pulling a chair out and slumping down into it with a smirk, striking up an easy conversation with the boy.

Moments later, Amelia's wearing a sincere smile as she accepts the boy's nervous hand, her simple expression noticeably easing the shaggy blonde's anxiousness.

At the final chords of the song, the young teenager is obviously contented judging by the wide and bashful smile on his shy face. Reading their lips, from what Q can tell Amelia's no doubt thanking him for the dance in her usual quirky manner, courtesying in her lacey, cream-coloured frock. The raging blush tainting the boy's tanned face after the woman's lips are pressed lightly to his cheek just manages to widen the smile Q's wearing now, shaking his head as he shoots back another glass of something blatantly strong.

"Have fun?" he asks with a smirk upon her return, raising a sly brow.

"Yes, Geoffrey. I did indeed," she stuck her tongue out at him. "Pretty sure I stepped on his toes a fair few times, though. Poor guy having to deal with me as a partner," she chuckles into her glass, tipping the drink up and easing the burning liquid down her throat.

"Oh, I don't think that mattered much. But now you must due _me _the honor, as well, dear." The Quartermaster's grin is wicked as he relieves her of her glass of ouzo, taking her other hand in his and lacing their fingers together with an expression that's no doubt present due to the influence of alcohol.

"Thomspon," Amelia starts carefully in a light and recurring laugh, allowing him to wrap an arm around her waist as they begin to sway slowly on the edge of the designated dance floor, "on a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?"

"Mmm..." he ponders for a moment with a dazed smirk, dreamy lips paired with half-lidded eyes. "Seven." The fairly intoxicated tech nerd pulls her closer slyly in a swift motion.

"Christ on a stick," Mimi rolls her eyes with a small grin, hand resting respectively on his shoulder. "This is going to be a long night."

"Don't you mean a _wooonderful _night?" he drawls, spinning her skillfully. Where he had learnt any dancing skills whatsoever, she hadn't a bloody clue.

"Of course I do, you foolish bastard. Of course I do."

_Goodbye, my lover. Goodbye, my friend. You have been the one, you have been the one for me. _


	16. Chapter 16

"Marko! You're gonna fucking kill us!" Mona calls in a shriek, though a large grin is shared between both her and Amelia as they get zipped along the crystalline water, now capped white with foam courtesy of the jolting twists and turns Marko's making the small speedboat do.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Laimos," the green-eyed man shouts back with a cheeky smile and dazzling wink, the whipping wind carrying the sound to the young women laughing and squealing on the tube attached to the motor by a rope a good ways behind them.

"Are you determined to tip us over, you wanker?" Amelia yells, licking her tongue out at the one operating the boat, though a smile is flashed momentarily at Q who resides in the bow , which brings a grin to his face. Rarities like the crinkle near her eyes, dimple on her pointed chin, an adorably scrunched up nose; they all never failed to crumble his usual stoney expression.

And of course her widened eyes and risen eyebrows at every whiplash-inducing jolt they encounter, sending the lightweight women airborne more times than Mimi's able to count.

Their laughs are tired and frankly exhausted as their speed slows to a lazy pace, the tube being pulled gently along until they reach the floating wharf again.

* * *

"I'm gonna miss you, darling," Evangeline says softly with a melancholy smile. "Promise me you'll come out to Cardiff sometime soon, eh?" Her daughter nods in return, scrunching up her face at the kiss placed on her nose. "It was nice to meet ya, Geoffrey." The raven-haired woman looks between the two juniors for a moment, placing hands lightly over Amelia's ears before speaking back to him, adding, "Looks like she's finally found someone to put up with her introverted instability." A wink is quickly added and Q's lips curl into an honest smile in return. "She's very much worth it, Evangeline."

"You're damn right she is," Ev nods in agreement with a proud smirk, letting her hands fall from the oblivious young girl's ears to rest in a loose embrace around her.

Amelia rolls her eyes at their sly grins, pulling the handle from her suitcase with a huff. "Shall we go?" she exhales exasperatedly in a sigh.

"Yes. We shall," Geoffrey responds in a posh tone, obviously mocking her choice of words as he takes her minuscule hand in his, lacing their fingers together: an action that has become so familiar it's almost instinct when in each other's presence.

"I have a question," Mimi states in somewhat of a chirp as they get a fair distance away from her mother, proceeding towards the cluster of sleek seats near their designated gate, the waiting space only being occupied by a young mother feeding her infant, a family decked out in tourist gear with matching luggage, and two raggedy looking young men carrying only guitar cases and sporting disheveled hair and stubble.

"What's that, love?" he mumbles into her hair in reply as he places a kiss on the top of her head.

"Are we properly dating?" she raises her eyebrows, feeling a ball of nervousness growing in the pit of her stomach, sending it into an anxious fit of fluttering wings that the girl personally views as one of the worst feelings in the entire universe.

Geoffrey lets out a pitiful cough, failing terribly at maintaining his usual cool and confident persona. "Well, um, I suppose. Only if you'd like to, of course," he stutters out, tightening his grip on her hand slightly and adjusting the strap of his laptop bag hanging from a set shoulder.

"Kay..." she trails off, ghostly leaning into him.

"Kay as in you'd like to or kay as in _fuck off, Q_?" he asks with round eyes that could almost be considered childlike with worry.

"The former," Mimi answers in a light titter, smiling up at him.

"Oh. That's... good."

"Good? I'm completely flattered, Thompson," Amelia pokes Geoffrey in the side with a scoff as they sit down. She curls her legs underneath her put of habit, leaning against his shoulder with a yawn. "How many bloody hours do we have to wait now?"

"Two," Q replies curtly, his tone flat and face placid.

Amelia groans, obviously discontented with being in an airport at three o'clock in the damn morning. "Good. Fucking. Night," she huffs, a sort of final tone in her voice as she bundles up her jumper, laying her head on Geoffrey's lap and letting her eyes flutter closed as a hand is placed gently on her shoulder.

* * *

A nearly giddy Geoffrey Thompson returns to Mimi's side, lifting her legs to sit down before laying them gently back on his lap as he hands her a beer.

"You're a terrible influence," Amelia chuckles in her sleepy voice: deeper and more sultry than usual.

"Why drown in near-alcoholism alone when you can drink with a buddy instead?" Q challenges with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Why d'ya even put up with me anyways? What do you like about Amelia McTavish so much that you can overlook the mass consumption of booze, sociopathic tendencies and anti-social behaviour?" She sets her drink down on the coffee table in waiting.

Geoffrey takes a prolonged sip of beer, blank eyes never leaving her tired ones all the while before he finally speaks. "What do I like about you so much? Well, lets see... You've got a brain to defeat the head of CIA, unintentionally seductive ways, the only one I've ever met with the quick-wit to challenge my own and your beauty is unmatched but for the sirens of myth," he answers simply as if it were an algebraic equation, expression not shifting an inch.

After her long silence and averted eyes, Q deems the matter worthy of elaboration: a little bit of coaxed affection from the young woman wouldn't hurt, and he certainly wasn't opposed to her delicious squeaks of surprise, one that was heard after he abruptly discarded his bottle and climbed on top of her, keeping most of his weight off of the frail creature by the support of his elbows. "More specifically," he begins, tone brooding and shiver-inducing, reserved for special occasions, "your eyes. Button nose," Q kisses it lightly. "The shade of red your cheeks turn when I say something even remotely complimentary, because you've no idea how to reply to something that isn't an insult," he strokes the heated skin with his thumbs, leaning over her so that his face rests only a few inches above, studying her with every word he utters. "Your remarkably tiny ears," Geoffrey cranes his head down to the crook of her neck, sure he's able to hear her quickened heartbeat as he places a kiss on her earlobe, nibbling lightly.

_You're on a roll, Geoffrey. Don't stop now you incompetent fuckbrain._

The man trails feather kisses up her jaw, eyeing her seriously though it's clear in his expression that he's cocky with the fact that he's finally able to toy with her as she always does with him. "Your lips, obviously." The tech geek allows himself to grin down at her at this one before pressing their mouths together gently, pulling away far too quickly for Amelia's liking judging by the slight arch of her back in his direction, which no doubt brings a smirk to his lips.

"Shall I continue?" he asks with an arrogant simper, a teasing raised eyebrow.

"Please do," she mumbles back with half-lidded eyes, trailing a hand up his arm.

"Oh no you don't," he grabs her wrist swiftly with challenging eyebrows, earning himself a glare in return. "Your start touching me and I get distracted. Can't have that happening, can we, you enticing little creature?"

"Your loss," she childishly licks her tongue out, her normal facade not convincing him one bit, because he knows her stomach's doing flips judging by the subtle shiver he felt wrack underneath him moments earlier.

"Oh, but your gain, dear," he returns with a wickedly coy grin. "Now where was I? Ah, yes; everything I like about you. Mm, your legs..." He trails a hand down the side of one of them, following the gentle contours and light etching of muscle, not trusting his eyes for they're surely wander. "Hands, dainty as they may be, can make me weak in the knees when you touch me," he states matter-of-factly, lifting her hand and placing lingering kisses across her knuckle, toying with Mimi's fingers distractedly for a while before looking back up at her from underneath his glasses. "Hm, dear, your freckles..." he presses their noses together, moving downward to place kisses on her exposed collar bone, across her chest, down onto her stomach...

"That's quite far enough," McTavish chokes out suddenly, anxiety blatantly evident in her voice as she clears her throat conspicuously.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Amelia," he repeats, sitting up and fixing his glasses with fumbling fingers, mentally cursing himself yet again.

_You know she's a prudish little 21 year old. Now you've frightened her._

Next time, if you're even allowed one, try not to let your dick make your decisions, hm, you imputile shithead?

He runs a hand through his hair multiple times, ultimately removing his glasses and chucking them onto the table, retrieving his beer and chugging back a quick few mouthfuls, staring at the television.

"Wanna... watch a film?" Amelia asks in an attempt to change the subject. biting her lip and sitting up against the arm rest to look at him with an apologetic expression, feeling she's made him uncomfortable.

"We've watched four since we've been back at your flat," he chuckles blandly, voice lacking humour. "Our suitcases are still sitting by the door, and you're wearing pyjamas." He keeps his smile light, though it's noticeably forced to a trained eye, attempting to keep the mood unsubstantial and ease some of the tension hanging thick in the air.

"I should be the one apologizing..." she grumbles, practically downing her drink.

"Why on Earth would you think that, Amelia?"

"Because I'm boring anyways, so without sex what the hell am I worth sticking around for?" Her tone has risen, nearly a shout, though it fizzles out somewhat near the ends, choking back tears in a laugh that could only be described as unstable and maniacal. Amelia McTavish does not cry. Especially not in _front_ of anyone. "You can leave now," she hisses, wiping at her eyes roughly, standing in a swift motion and nearly stomping into her room if not for her quick pace. The girl plops onto her bed, laying on her side and trying to slow her breathing, which is proving to be quite the difficult task.

Q cracks the door open, entering as it creaks in a droning noise, his presence also being made known by the streak of light forcing its way into the dark little space. He has no idea what to do. He's never seen her show any emotion so strongly that wasn't rage. Geoffrey sighs, sitting on the other side of her bed, reaching over to take her hand. Amelia quickly pulls hers away, shifting with a sniffle. "You should probably go, y'know. We're both due back at the office tomorrow."

He nods silently, knowing she can't see him, though performing the gesture anyway. Q gets up almost robotically, hanging in the doorway with a reluctant expression. "Amelia?"

"What?"

_Now or never, wanker. _"Would it be an inappropriate time to say I think I love you?"

She turns her body, eyebrows raised in confusion, tears still coming vaguely. "What?" Her voice is barely above a whisper as she wipes at her reddened nose.

"You heard me," Q replies in an authoritative voice, now beginning to regret his confession.

"You're just trying to make me feel better," she mumbles, though internally hopes its not the truth.

"No, I was not, and I'm pretty well sure we both know it. I'll see you tomorrow during briefing," he states flatly, disappearing from her bedroom, making his exit known by the slam of the front door and faint rolling of his suitcase down the hallway.

Amelia turns on her side once again, burying her face in her pillow to block out the light seeping in from her door left ajar. She feels a sharp prick of stabbing pain before her world goes black, body limp.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews feed the bottomless pit that is my stomach. I will bake cookies for each and every one of you who takes the time out of their day to PM, review, favorite, follow, etc. You honestly don't know how much I appreciate your support of my mediocre writing ^-^ **

**Its currently _exactly _4:00am, and the birds started chirping half an hour ago. They've commenced some sort of head start, apparently. Alas, I should probably try and go to sleep now. Time for some ASMR videos and no blankets, because its 23 degrees, goddammit. I love you all. Bye. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: For the love of Christ, I'm having feels. Less than ten more chapters and this story will be finished... I think I've grown much too attached to it. Question time: Would anyone be interested in a sequel? I'm only considering it, no promises, but depending on the feedback from here on out, it just might be done. I love this one so much; its my baby. I hate to see it coming to an end.**

* * *

The golden morning sky surrounds Amelia in a distant haze. Through her drugged eyes the sun and morning glow above start to churn and mix together; she feels as if she belongs in a painting. The beauty struck her and made her catch her breath. It was like her favorite pillow; it comforted the girl and made her mind feel as if it was in some distant unknown place. At this moment she feels as if she's been lifted out of something bad and suspended above until it was safe to go back down. Time is frozen, all thoughts and worries absent, until a delayed voice swims through her ears, murmuring sweet nothings with lips pressed to her neck. _Foreign _lips. They're demanding and skilled, unlike the gentle and unsure ones she's used to; the only ones having ever met her own; the first _and _only ones.

She furrows her eyebrows in panic, sending a sharp blow to the unfamiliar figure crouched next to her. Even in her loopy, nearly unresponsive state her elbow manages to collide with someone's well-built chest, sending them into a fit of coughs. Her first thought is to sit up, to look around, to run, though those plans are quickly foiled as she arches her back in the mindset of rising from the elaborately blanketed bed, only to be stopped by hands pressing down harshly on her wrists, weight laying suggestively on top of her, so very close she has to lean her face back in order to make out their features.

"Sleep well, _Clare Dumont_?"

* * *

"Speaking of which, where the hell is 009?" M questions coolly, glancing around the chosen briefing room.

Q makes a note to keep quiet. After all, if he let on that anything, no matter how small, was going on romantically between the two of them, it'd surely be frowned upon and possibly forbidden. Office romances are not something to toy with when your line of work is protecting your nation from external foreign attacks, though he can't help but reflect back on the words spoken between them the previous night.

"Well?" M prompts. "Surely one of you knows of her whereabouts. I'm confident that she speaks with each of the members of Q Branch on a weekly basis."

Bond quickly pipes up nonchalantly from the back of the room; hands placed behind his head, he radiates confidence, unlike the slightly nervous Quartermaster who's stoney walls are crumbling little by little. "She didn't speak to anyone she wasn't obligated to the entire first month she was here. I highly doubt any acquaintances have been formed. Her file _did_ list anti-social under the mental health section, need I remind anyone." His eyes trail over to Q, to whom he sends a wink, receiving quickly averted eyes in return.

"Yes, well, thank you for that, 007," M replies with narrowed eyes, his receding hairline creasing in annoyance at the cool and confident field operative. The intelligence agency's director flicks watery grey eyes over to the Quartermaster sitting left of him at the far end of the long mahogany table. "You. She was placed under _your_ authority before she was to undergo the field agent evaluations. She was obligated to speak to you. Where the hell is she?"

Q raises an eyebrow, building his facade up brick by brick with ease, now that his temper strings have been plucked. "Its not like we're proper mates, sir, I don't know wh-"

"Oh, I beg to differ," announces a voice from across the table. Anja. Of course. The blonde folds her arms with a superior expression, upturning her nose and turning her face from the scrawny tech nerd to regard M with perfectly arched eyebrows. "He left with her a few weeks back. I saw them."

"Is this correct, Mr. Thompson?" Mallory turns a questioning gaze toward the Quartermaster.

"Yes. She was giving me a damn ride to my flat," he states matter-of-factly, sending a subtle glare in Anja's direction after the flawless lie.

"That is completely untrue!" she cries, poking an accusing manicured finger at him.

"Let's not squabble like schoolchildren. Save that for your own time if you must, thank you." M directs his calm eyes toward the angered woman. "Ms. Withers, will I be prompted to have you removed from the briefing, or shall we continue? Q has more clearance than you do, and I say that with no disrespect, though I believe I'll take his word for it." Scanning everyone's face, he quickly dismisses them. "Back to your posts." The horror story crawl of chairs scraping loudly and files being ruffled fills the room, and Q stands almost mechanically, draping his windbreak over his arm before picking up his briefcase.

"Oh, and Mr. Thompson?"

"Yes, sir?"

"_Do_ attempt to contact 009. I didn't find her absence during the briefing very professional, and I'd like to speak with her as soon as possible."

Q nods once curtly. "I'll have Moneypenny notify you when I'm through."

* * *

"Get away from me!" Amelia shrieks, and if not for her tone one would never say she was as terrified as she was at this exact moment. "Another step closer and I'll bury a fork into your fucking skull!"

"Oh, but you'd need hands for that. Last time I checked, yours were bound by cuffs, darling," the redheaded man smiles, his face so sweet it nearly makes her retch.

"Don't call me that!" she shouts maniacally, backing into the wall behind her and falling onto her rear with a squeak.

"I love it when you make that sound. But you know what sound I'd love even more? You whimpering my name underneath me."

"If I'm lucky I'll be dead due to overdose of your damn horse tranquilizers before the opportunity presents itself!" Amelia grunts, kicking a long leg out to a dresser on wheels she sends flying toward the man quickly advancing on her.

"Oh, don't worry. Your mind will be changed soon enough. I've got a lot more to offer than that scrawny little smartass who somehow wormed his way into becoming Quartermaster."

She ceases her actions of hurling everything in her reach at him, thrashings coming to a halt as she narrows her eyes. "How do you know about Q?"

He chuckles heartily, the sound genuine and what you'd expect a typical neighborhood father to sound like. "Oh, my pure little Amelia," he shakes his head with a wide smile, as if they were just two lifelong friends joking around over a cup of tea. "I told you already, silly! I love you. I've been infatuated with you since I was merely 14, my beautiful little creature. Since the incident with your father, of course. You became my life," he smiles softly. "Of course I had to keep up with my competition!" the ginger man laughs as if it were all one meager, lighthearted joke.

"You disgust me," she hisses, scooting away from his saddened brown eyes, her back pressed helplessly against the wall behind her as she tries to put as much distance between them as humanly possible.

The man sighs with upturned eyebrows, expression hurt and pained as he crouches down next to her, brushing a curl from her face which remains reddened with rage and twisted into a tight scowl, turning her cheek away from him defiantly. "Oh, Ms. McTavish... You'll return my love soon enough." He leans forward slowly to place another lingering kiss on her neck, his eerily cold breath taut against her heated flesh before a familiar prick of pain is felt near her jugular, and she falls against the floor like a rag doll.

* * *

Geoffrey had grown tired and, quite frankly, irritated with Amelia's replies of silence to his various text messages, phone calls, voice mails and even emails sent to all six of her different accounts. Inside he knew for a fact that she was deliberately ignoring him, and he continuously cursed himself for being such a fool. She was a pretty young girl with immense intelligence and so many possible suitors, why in hell would she ever want him: a plain and lonely nerd turned technological genius with a big nose and an even bigger ego? This was one of those moments where he wished time was able to rewind. He'd take back everything exchanged between them the previous night. Especially those impactite trio of words.

Words he knew deep down to probably be true, yet he denied it to himself.

"Um... Sir?"

"Yes?" Q replies boredly with a sigh, the uneventful day just getting even worse with each passing minute. He casually imagines Amelia perched on his desk with that rare and lovely smile in waiting for the minion's continuation.

"I believe I've found 009..."

Q's eyebrows furrow, hands steepled under his chin in thought quickly retracting to his sides with a confused expression. "What?"

The minion who's now wearing a frightened expression quickly looks back down to her laptop, typing furiously with fumbling fingers and shaking hands before an image is brought up on Q's screen, also being projected onto the television behind him for the entire office to see.

His face falls. Drops. Just like his heart; which sinks to depths unmatchable by even the Atlantic Ocean. All muscles go slack, and he just stands there like a fool, staring at the live feed depicting a tear-stained McTavish, clothed by only a collared shirt that looks to belong to a businessman of sorts. The gag in her mouth and bruise over her eye certainly don't help the look of the situation. "What the hell is this?" he asks calmly to no one specifically, fern green eyes never leaving her heavily breathing form slumped in a chair with wrists bound to its arms.

"Hello! Ooh, my. There's certainly a lot of you, isn't there?" A jovial-looking young man appears next to her, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he peers directly into the camera in a way that can only be described as unsettling.

The Quartermaster turns swiftly away, his voice commanding as he demands everyone to, "Track it. Track it right now!"

"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Thompson!" the man bearing hair rusty in pigmentation wags a finger at him. "I'm actually very insulted. I wouldn't be _that _stupid. The IP address has been scrambled across the globe, thanks to my wonderful technician Charlie, back there. Good luck locating."

Q stands slowly, turning back to the large screen behind him, form hunched over his laptop just moments before. "Who are you," he asks, the question taut and lacking any inquisition whatsoever, it being a demanding statement instead.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. _If_, of course, you're intelligent as they say you are. Now, let's focus on the more pressing matter here. I'd like to get down to business," the ginger returns flatly, untying the cloth gagging Amelia's mouth with careful hands that Q notes almost seem as if they're trying to remain gentle with her, which only fuels his hate fire. "I've got the object of your affection, or should I say, the object of _my infatuation_," he smiles, stroking her hair and regarding her with warm eyes, remaining indifferent to each one of the girl's flinches and her set jaw. "She happens to be very important to MI6, in fact, though I won't be the one to give away the details. I think we should leave that to Mr. Gareth Mallory." His lips rise into another wide simper. "I _also _have a list. A list of every single one of your operatives implanted in terrorist organizations across the globe. Sound familiar? That list was never recovered." His smile only grows. "Thanks to one Raoul Silva, all attention had been focused on him a few months ago. Seems as if the former M's death shook the agency so much you incompetent fuckbrains forgot all about it. How convenient for me, huh?"

"Get to the point. That can't be _all _your asking for. She's one agent. One. Very replaceable to MI6," Q manages to get out in a calm and authoritative tone, though the plain hurt that registers in Amelia's eyes after his words feels like a stab to the abdomen.

"But not replaceable to you," the younger man teases in a sing-song voice. "Anyways, my point is, you don't give me something, and I take both mine and my gorgeous little Mimi's life, leaving that list to fall into hands even _more_ wrong than mine." His smile is sickening to Q. Absolutely sickening.

It takes almost an eternity for Geoffrey to reply. He folds his arms, as if it would somehow strengthen his mental stability right now, which is internally being questioned. "And what do you request in return?"

"Let's see... Fame? Fortune? Nah... How about... Your life."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I am so very apologetic. I have no excuses. Pure laziness, lack of motivation, and being out of town with my best friend for two weeks. Although during said span of time I did indeed have wifi and my laptop with me, she lives nearly seven hours away, and I hardly get to see her anymore. I MISS YOU ALREADY, MADGE. EVEN THOUGH I PROHIBITTED YOU FROM READING THIS BECAUSE ITS EMBARRASSING AND YOU DON'T REALLY READ BOND FANFICTION, I'M SURE YOU'LL SEE THIS EVENTUALLY BECAUSE YOU'RE A TIT.**

**Now that that's over with, please excuse this shitty excuse of a chapter. Forgive me. Also, I am not going to reveal many details about Amelia's father and their past etc, because I have indeed decided that I'm going to make a sequel. We'll see how that turns out ^-^ Feedback at this point would be greatly appreciated. You could even message me ideas if you'd like, though I can't promise I'll use them, as I already have everything planned out, but I just might stick little things from you guys in wherever I can fit them adorably :3**

**ENOUGH WITH MY FUCKING RAMBLE. TIME TO GO BACK TO WATCHING KITCHEN NIGHTMARES. I LOVE YOU ALL.**

* * *

"You're an idiot for thinking they'd give their Quartermaster to save a boney little double-oh who hasn't even been active for more than a year," Amelia shoots, shifting in her chair.

"I said you were special to them. You just don't know," he turns to her, smiling widely, placing a hand on her cheek tenderly.

"Its as easy to bite off a human finger as it is a carrot. I will not hesitate if you touch me one more goddamn time," she hisses, scooting her chair away from the man.

His expression hardens in annoyance. "You'll come around sooner or later," he states with narrowed eyes and a set jaw before turning back to the camera, looking at Q with a wide and wicked grin. "About my proposition; would you die for her? I certainly would. That's the difference between us, don't you see, Amelia?" the man reaches a hand out, face turning back in the direction of his love. "Why I'm the better choice."

"Will you fuck off? He doesn't give two shits about me, and I don't give two shits about you! Pretty goddamn simple," Amelia shoots back sharply with a sibilant sound.

Q's face softens, his eyes exasperated and brows upturned in near sadness. "What are you doing?" he asks her softly, unfolding his arms which promptly fall slowly to his sides.

"Saving your career," she replies almost inaudibly so that none of the frightened trainees behind him would be able to hear, and raises an eyebrow, turning her face toward the Quartermaster, features hard and indifferent. Her infamous mask that was only ever seen by that Geoffrey Thompson. Until he came along that mask was unmoving and never removed.

They share a prolonged gaze. A requited stare full of longing, more so _hurt_ on Q's part. Worry and hurt and just wanting her - no, _needing _her to be safe. To be with him this very moment. In _his _embrace instead of ginger bastard's, the thought of him even touching Mimi making his skin crawl and blood boil, though nothing but worry registers on his face.

He swallows, folding his arms yet again as he addresses the man next to her."Say if I did give... My life... What would come of Ms. McTavish?"

"Geoffrey, don't be stup-"

"Don't interrupt, dear," her captor slaps a hand over her mouth, earning himself a bite mark on his palm. He curses under his breath, rubbing the injured area and glaring at her. "Might be a little too feisty, hm?" He turns his eyes back to Q with a sick smile. "She'd of course be returned safely. Though the little thing would still be haunted by her father and her past. Isn't that right, sexy?" The carrottop wraps an arm around her condescendingly, pulling her close. She shrugs him off, suppressing tears with an intense scowl on her face. "Amelia's very ashamed of her daddy."

"There's no need to talk of her family," Q snaps, though he has no idea what the hell this unknown man is rambling on with. Nothing about her father was mentioned in her biography on her file other than his death.

"For chrissakes, Thompson, just find me!" she shouts, her usual emotional instability in her voice.

"How can they do that when they've got nowhere to look?" Her captor grins in triumph.

Amelia's round eyes flick slowly from him back to Q, her next words coming quick and rushed, as she knows once he realizes what she's about to tell her beloved Quartermaster could be quite useful to her being found. "Henry-"

The connection is cut, nothing but his usual screen greeting him after the flash of blackness.

Q lets out a frustrated grunt, spinning on his heel and slamming fists onto his desk, falling back into his large chair with a face buried in his hands. He agitatedly removes his glasses, rubbing his eyes while his brain wracks for possible surnames. A possible ending to her sentence cut short just moments before. The young man desperately tries to keep his thoughts from straying to how much he just wants to kiss her and hug her and protect her no matter how little he'd be able to do so.

"Miller," states a familiar raspy voice from the back of the office, followed by the swish of the glass door and determined footsteps approaching Geoffrey's desk with purpose.

"What?" Q looks up with furrowed eyebrows, meeting eyes with Bond who's wearing an expression that can only be described as plain angry. Well, as much anger and emotion Bond is able to show, being Bond and all.

"His alias is Henry Miller."

"How would you know?" Q runs a hand through his hair, resting elbows on his desk.

007's tone is exasperated and matter-of-fact with his next words. "He spoke to her at the arms convention in Tokyo when we took out Stallin. Don't you bloody techs remember anything? For fuck's sakes," Bond grumbles in an unnerving tone. "She figured out your bloody highly confidential name the first week she was here, and yet you can't recall the alias of the only man who spoke to her at the convention _you _were overseeing?"

"No need to get excited," a familiar full-toned, contralto voice flows through the air of Q Branch which is now heavy with the quickening breaths of the minions wearing desperate expressions, only a few of them skilled enough to remain calm during this situation. M's steps are slow and authorative as he strolls casually up to Q's desk, hands jumbled loosely in his pockets, Tanner following closely behind him.

"What's this about 009's whereabouts I hear?" the aging man raises an eyebrow. He was no doubt in the Autumn of his life, and his dull eyes held wisdom, no doubt, but underneath his unaffected exterior there was worry only made evident by the slight inclination of his tone. One that not many would catch.

"She's been taken hostage for... Unknown reasons..." Q replies, dwelling over his poor choice of words that came out sounding anything but inconspicuous.

Mallory raises an eyebrow, turning to Bond with folded arms, a tip of the head waiting in expectance for an answer. A _real _answer.

"A man who spoke to her on her first field operation. Apparently its something to do with her father."

M tenses, a small frown tugging at his lips, arms being resigned to his sides. He turns on his heel, beckoning a confused Tanner back with him by the jut of a thumb.

"Sir!" Q calls to his receding form which is now halfway out the door, standing abruptly. "I know its most likely not my place, but... What happened with her father? Her file says nothing."

M regards him sternly for a prolonged moment before calling simple words over his shoulder. "He was a traitor. They burned him. He went free-lance and started doing favors for people, taking public matters into his own hands, working with the IRA. Come see me if you'd like to know more." He turns back, eyes scanning the entire Branch with perceptiveness before swiftly exiting, Tanner following closely behind.

* * *

"Sir, not to sound rude, but... Go home. There's nothing else we can do right now," an umber-skinned minion sends him an apologetic expression.

"There's always hope, Jensen," Q replies cheerily though his face lacks emotion, completely out of tune with the situation as he types away at his keyboard with darting oculars. The man sighs, bidding him a grunted goodnight and strolling out of the dark branch. Q's tired eyes make a strained effort to take a final glance around the large, dimly lit room before aggressively shoving away a stack of papers, sending them into a flurry of a miniature cyclone as they all lose speed and fall gently to the concrete floor. He lets out a grunt of frustration, his head falling onto the desk with a muffled thump, followed quickly by another groan.

_"Geoffrey."_ His gaze shoots up, nearly giving himself whiplash at the speed he sits up with.

Taking another final glance around the empty room, ultimately sighing solemnly and dismissing the hiss of his name as his daft imagination. "You've gone mad, Mr. Thompson," he mumbles to himself, running a hand across his face.

_"Oh for fuck's sake, Geoffrey. You haven't gone mad. Maybe if you'd take your fingers away from your damn eyes and looked at your laptop you'd be able to see me."_

"Amelia?"

"Who else do you know that sounds like they smoke 84 packs a day and has a revolting lisp?"

"Its not that bad."

"Can we focus on more important things? Like the fact that I literally have less than 90 seconds before these motherfuckers realize one of the laptops is missing and so is Amelia?" she hisses, a look of determination and blatant anger apparent on her lovely features now tainted with an unappealing batter of blood and tears, the pale creature's stark cloak of skin having been stamped with ink risen to the surface by a forceful fist and thorough fingers.

"Where are you." His voice is tired. Just, tired. Of course this is how it ends. How she ends. How they both end.

"Still in London. I was at some sort of hotel before Mr. Masochist plunged another bloody dose of ketamine into me. From what I can tell right now I'm in some abandoned building," Amelia sighs.

"Masochist?" Q raises an eyebrow, eyes widening slightly though his incessant typing which started after the connection was established has not ceased. "He didn't... You didn't... Did he _touch_-"

"I'm going to vomit. He did _not! _Jesus Christ, Q, give me more credit. Like I would ever let that fucker lay a finger on me in such a defiling manner."

"You start to speak as you write when you're frightened," the Quartermaster points out coolly, earning no form of response whatsoever from his chaste and disheveled specimen. A long silence follows. "This is how it ends, isn't it? It was always going to go to shit like this. Its just been a matter of time. You were too bloody good to be true. Too damn free and beautiful and too fucking refulgent. Everlasting happiness is a joke."

"See, that almost would've been enough for me to tell me I love you too, but that _Rule of Rose_ quote at the end completely crashed my train of thought, and now I'm thinking about Eleanor."

"And of course you skip right over the fact that you just casually mentioned my emotions towards you are reciprocated, and focus on some video game I watched you play for six hours."

"Lets not do this right now," she shoots back quickly, though her tone lacks any of her usual hostility, coffee-hued oculars resembling that of a frightened doe's. "I have 'bout five seconds left before I slip back out of the toilet like I never moved."

"Then make those five seconds count, Amelia."

Running a hand through her tangled hair, a large sigh is heaved, and she poises a slender finger over the escape key. "I fucking love you, you foolish bastard."


End file.
